


The Bridge

by ArtemisArcher83



Series: B Series [4]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, Family, Romance, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-18 17:13:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 115,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4713980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisArcher83/pseuds/ArtemisArcher83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(As posted on FFN) Future Christina sent Myka and her younger self a time-travelling artefact, which whisked the two away to London, 1890. Why? What waits for them there and how will they get back to the 21st century? What will Myka do when she meets her young, future fiancée? Fourth part of my Bering and Wells B-series. Rated T but may change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In the distance, the kitchen clock kept up its regular rhythm, filling the now empty house. Tick... tock... tick... tock...

Voices gone and laughter silenced; Helena felt a pit of despair open beneath her feet, the old scarred wound in her chest being torn asunder, threatening to throw her bodily into that world of torment and madness.

She heard nothing more through the receiver. Fighting blindly against the darkness, she tried to regain her senses. “Myka...? Myka...!? MYKA!” _No, this cannot be happening. Not again!_

The distant sound of Pete calling her name barely registered. Her grip tightened around the phone, making her knuckles turn white. What could have happened? How had it happened? She had taken this mission for the sole purpose of keeping Myka out of harm’s way, now she’d failed, and not only her fiancée but her daughter too?

Was she cursed to watch her loved ones be taken from her over and over? Had she wronged someone in a previous life to be on the receiving end of this torture? She’d given up on a life of adventure and discovery, repeatedly said no to that inner voice that enjoyed the thrill of the chase, because her family was more important. Why was she being punished for that?

_Bloody hell, Helena, this is not helping. Think, blast you!_

At the panic in the inventor’s voice, Pete twisted almost completely round in the front passenger seat to try to find out what was happening, repeatedly calling her name. “HG...? Come on. Damn it, what’s going on?” His sixth sense had decided to return with full force and the intensity of it was overwhelming. When he continued to get nothing from her, he rounded back to the driver. “Steve, you’d better step on it. I’m gonna call... I guess Leena’s the closest. I don’t like this,” he muttered to himself as the call connected and began to ring.

* * * * *

Somewhere in the Badlands of South Dakota, sun mocking with the promise of warmth and comfort overhead, Christina smiled tiredly up at the rusty monstrosity before her, relieved at last to have her part in this adventure almost over with. “Well, here I am, at last,” she whispered. “Did you miss me?”

She wandered in a roundabout way toward the entrance, considering whether she would need to knock or not, but as she came within a dozen feet of the door, it swung open.

“I guess that’s a yes.”

The door closed softly behind her and she made her way passed the pillared bombs to the inner security barrier. Placing her face close to the scanner, she let the machine do its job and stepped back as she heard the dull click of the lock releasing.

Two familiar bickering voices greeted her at the entrance and she waited nervously as the portal slid quietly closed behind her.

“I told you that thing would let you down eventually. The Warehouse’s system isn’t just a jumble of wires. Everything here runs on a mystical energy.” The director smirked slightly as he felt a hint of victory in his old machine vs. Claudia’s new fangled gadgets.

“Well excuse me Grumps for trying to bring us into the modern world,” Claudia grumbled. “I can’t just give up. Not now Myka and little CJ are missing.” She felt a shift in the air around her... the Warehouse waking up. She frowned. “Oh, so you’re talking to me again are you?” she mumbled aloud to the room.

“What?” Artie turned from his workstation to scowl at his protégé, his voice catching in his throat as he spotted the unexpected intruder. He stood suddenly, crying out at the shock and grabbing his Tesla to aim it at the young woman. “What...? Who...? How did you get in here!?”

Christina held her hands out on either side of her to show that she was unarmed and stepped into full view. A content smile softened her features and she glanced around at the familiar walls. “The Warehouse let me in. I think you’ve been looking for me.”

Claudia took several steps forward to take a closer look at the visitor and unconsciously reached out a hand to touch her face. “Jiminy Cricket. HG 2.0”

“Hello Aunt Claudia,” Christina grinned at the open-mouthed expression on the young agent’s face and then laughed as she pulled the redhead into a relieved hug, ignoring the stiffness in the computer-whizz’s shocked figure.

From across the room, Artie lowered his weapon but didn’t put it away. “So, you want us to believe that you’re who? Christina Wells?” He scoffed. “Why would you have targeted Myka and your younger self? What have you done with them?”

The time-traveller released her idol and moved closer to the sceptical director. “I haven’t gone by that name for a long time.” At their matching looks of confusion, she elaborated. “Not since my parents tied the knot. I am Christina, though other than my mothers, most people just call me CJ,” she shrugged her shoulders and waited to see what their verdict would be.

Artie had received a disturbing call from Leena a short time ago to inform him that she was at Myka and Helena’s and that their beloved agent and her daughter were missing. Pete, Steve and HG were on their way back but by the sounds of things, the inventor was already in a downward spiral of emotions. Even if this young woman in front of them was who she claimed to be, he didn’t trust her yet. For all he knew, she was no different than her mother and the charm was an inherited form of manipulation.

“I’m not supposed to tell you why I needed to come,” Christina began, effectively cutting off the beginning of another argument. “But you should be prepared for what I did.”

“Your mom’s flipped her lid with all this,” Claudia remembered from Pete’s frantic call. “Why would you do that to her? What exactly did you do with Myka and Mini-you?”

“I didn’t want to hurt her; it was unavoidable. If I could have sent her with them, I would have.” The young visitor ran an agitated hand through her hair in an imitation of the distraught woman in question. “I sent them to London. Or more specifically, London, November 1890.” She braced for the blow as she watched their faces drop. Several quiet seconds passed before anyone moved.

The grumpy director adjusted his glasses and sat heavily in his chair. “I assume that you have a good reason for playing with time? An airtight, saving the world reason, not just an attempt to revive someone you’ve lost?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, the young adult huffed and rolled her eyes. “I didn’t ask for this. The Regents contacted me, they explained the situation, my parents talked me through it; told me things about our family that are bloody impossible and, after a while, I agreed.”

Artie scoffed. It made sense that the Regents were behind this. He’d known that they were hiding something. “Time travel is extremely dangerous. No one should have that power.”

Christina’s features softened again in understanding of his caution. “I know. You’ve been giving me the same lecture since I was nine. Mum told me about her failed attempts eventually too.”

“Eventually? It figures that she’d want to keep that quiet for as long as possible.” As usual, he was having a hard time being sympathetic towards anyone who thought that they could use an artefact for personal gain. He stood up and began fussing around his desk. “We wouldn’t want her to appear crazy or incompetent.”

Claudia shook her head with exasperation. “Artie, you’ve gotta let that go.”

“It’s ok Claudia,” Christina placed a calming hand on her surrogate aunt’s shoulder. “Mother never did make anything easy for herself. Why would she keep one of her greatest accomplishments from me?” She cocked her hip to one side and offered the cynical leader a sardonic gaze. “I guess she didn’t relish the idea of telling a child a bedtime story that involved her dying a gruesome death and had her mother turning mad with grief. Or perhaps it was revealing that her previous body still lies in a crypt in France. Or better yet, how about the world-ending, megalomaniac-behaviour that was only thwarted when one of her parents was forced to put a gun to the other’s head?” Seeing that she’d made her point she added, “I’m not entirely sure Grandpa. When would you have broken the news to me?”

Suitably chastised, Artie returned to his chair, grumbling meekly, “Don’t call me that, it’s weird.”

Chuckling to herself, the time traveller strolled the length of the room and sank onto the couch. “You don’t mind if I lie down for a bit do you? I’ve been on my feet for days.”

Snapping out of a daze, Claudia pushed her chair toward the couch and its occupant. It was strange seeing the young woman lying where a newly rescued eight-year-old lay not six months ago. Knowing that she was from the future, Claudia wanted to ask her all sorts of questions, but one look at Artie and she knew it wasn’t a good idea. Still...

“So... How did your mission to build the perfect tree house go?”

Through her exhaustion, Christina cracked a smile. “Project Hide-Away is ongoing. Though version 4.2 was bloody good.”

The techie slid forward with interest. If she hadn’t been sitting on her chair backwards, she would have been on the edge of her seat. “Really? How did you solve the issue with the...”

“Yes, tree houses are the priority here,” the sarcasm in the director’s tone carried across the office loud and clear, cutting through the budding conversation.

Claudia deflated and twirled sheepishly. “Oops. Can you blame me? Think of how much she must know about the advances in technology. Like how she managed to dodge all surveillance. Except that really old camera in the hotel lobby.”

Artie ignored her. “Miss. Wells, or whatever your name is, would you be so kind as to tell us what you’re going to do now to bring your victims back? Then perhaps we can finally wrap up this investigation.”

CJ wanted to laugh at her aunt’s uncontrolled curiosity; it was much like her own, but Artie’s words hit a nerve and she felt a sting of indignant ire. “They’re not victims and I wasn’t trying to hurt them.” She felt like getting up to confront him but didn’t have the energy so settled for an irate stare. “Do you think I like this!? I’ve torn my family apart and I don’t even know if I should have. Whether I had a right to. I’m not even allowed to explain why everyone agreed that it was for the best, including you, Grandpa.” She wiped furiously at angry tears. “I would never have agreed to any of this if you all hadn’t convinced me that it was the right choice. But whether it was right or not, it’s done. And I’m the one who has to live with it.”

Another lengthy silence passed but just as the director was about to open his mouth again, Claudia shot him a look that told him to keep his comment to himself. “CJ, you’re right that we can’t know how you’re feeling with all this time-travel wackiness. We need to know what to do next though. How do we get them back?”

“I don’t really know how the artefact works, I was just told what to do with it. Not that it makes much difference because Mama has it now.” Christina shrugged, clearly at a loss. “I think returning home is up to them.”

* * * * *

“Look,” Pete tried for the umpteenth time to elicit a reaction, a response from the backseat. They were nearing Univille now, Steve had hit the edge of the town at a speed that he was not at all comfortable with but now he’d slowed, refusing to break the speed-limit in a residential area. Lattimer used it as an opportunity to get through to the reticent woman who hadn’t spoken a word since screaming her lover’s name in vain. “We don’t know what’s happened. If it’s an artefact, we’ll figure it out like we always do. You don’t need to go all killer-crazy on us.” Dark, furious eyes rounded on him slowly. He gulped but considered it a tiny victory that he’d managed to gain her attention. Myka would kill him if he let her fiancée tip over the edge again; she would want him to keep trying. “The mad rampage didn’t work out so well for you last time, did it? We’re a team, HG; work with us on this.”

Helena’s eyes narrowed at the reminder. Did he think she’d forgotten her past mistakes? Guilt had been a companion to her for most of her life. Somehow, she was convinced this was her fault too. Her gaze returned to the familiar buildings and her mind whirred with images of what she might find when she arrived home.

Home. Such a simple word but with so much meaning. A concept that had been foreign to her for so long, which she had finally rediscovered with Myka, their daughter and the tentative promise of a future.

“Hey,” Pete continued stubbornly. “You said you and Mykes thought that Christina was behind all this. That’s something, right? She’ll have answers.”

“Christina would never hurt Myka,” the inventor growled with conviction.

“Exactly!” The intuitive agent felt elated by the response, ignorant to the threat in the woman’s voice. “So wherever they are, it could be for their protection instead.”

“Assuming that we were correct.” She reminded him sharply. In fact, ever since hearing Myka’s fading warning to Christina, she had begun to doubt their daughter’s involvement. She was convinced that the worst had happened to her family, and what would possess the girl to do something like that? There had to be another culprit.

Then again, Pete might have a point. Without knowing for sure, it was perhaps a little premature to be making assumptions. She was reluctant to let his words take seed; adverse to the idea of any sort of hope growing inside of her. That road inevitably led to more pain. But maybe, just maybe, there was something to hope for after all.

She didn’t wait for the car to come to a complete stop before diving out the door and sprinting up to the house. In her haste to get inside, she barely missed knocking Leena down but any thought of an apology died when no one else was there to greet her. Frantically, she dashed from room to room, finally reaching the last one; painted a bespoke green, a half complete tree-house model still drying on the desk, an odd sock peeking from the confides of a drawer.

Muscles giving way, she sank slowly to her knees and let her head fall into the bed covers, which still held a faint flowery scent that belonged to the usual occupant. She wanted to scream, to rage at the world and demand retribution, but for what? What had become of her family?

Questions demanded answers but she was too tired, too weak with shock and sorrow to begin the search. Answers would demand something of her that she wanted to believe she had put away for good; something that hummed in the dark, tormenting; the very thing that had accompanied her as she tortured Christina’s killers. Something she didn’t want to be again. She felt its teeth, its inevitability, clawing at her insides, and strove to fight it.

Those few eternal minutes stretched her resolve; a war fought in the depths of her mind. Rashness against patience. Hope in the face of pessimism. Faith and wisdom grappling with despair and pride.

Myka would want her to find control, to find love and light in the darkest shadow and let them fill her heart. _“I need more than, ‘she hates the world’.”_ Myka would prevail over hate. She would find a way to keep going without the relentlessness of hate’s influence. She wouldn’t fall subject to its whims.

A timid knock at the door pulled her thoughts back to the room and her gaze fell on the bulky frame filling the opening. She sniffed and started to wipe her tears from her cheeks, coughing to cover the pain in her voice. She stood on wobbly legs, using the bed for support. She had to be strong. They would expect it of her. HG Wells; time-traveller, murderer, betrayer, mad as a March hare; whatever she was, she wasn’t weak.

When thick arms circled her shoulders, she fought them and the sob that grew from her throat. He smelt musky as always and the feel of his body against hers was all wrong, but she sank into him regardless, relief flowing with the renewed flood of tears as her fingers clutched desperately at the back of his jumper. How had he known?

Pete for once had no words; he simply held the grieving woman close and rocked her softly to and fro. He could see the battle she was fighting behind her eyes and knew that the last thing she needed was to be left alone. His mind recalled the moment in Warehouse 2 when, before they had known of her ultimate plans, Myka had crouched before the raven-haired inventor to pull her back from that edge of despair. A century in bronze had given her too much time with her thoughts, too much time to rationalise and to fall prey to those inner demons. He wasn’t about to let that happen again.

As her sobs subsided and her slim figure stilled, he gently released her. “You’re not alone, HG.”

Her hands continued to grasp his forearms as she gathered her remaining equilibrium. “Thank you, Peter.” She sniffed and then barked a rough laugh as he conjured a clean tissue from his sleeve. At least, she hoped it was clean. “I’m not sure how you knew, but I needed that.” The letting of her wound had left a clarity that she held onto like a life raft. “We need to find out what happened.”

“We will,” he reassured her, foregoing any urge he might have to say something childish. “Steve is on the phone with the Warehouse right now. Do you feel up to going down there?”

Balking at the idea that he would think her that feeble, she rolled her eyes at him. “I have had my moment. I am not some wilting flower that needs saving. I thank you for your consideration but I do not require your constant attention.”

Hearing that familiar fire in her voice, he grinned. “You sure grandma? I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” He followed the grumbling inventor from the room, happy in the knowledge that he could keep her going with their usual bickering. He wasn’t stupid; he could be her verbal punching bag; an outlet for that repressed anger.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Agent Jinks was just putting his phone away. He and Leena were stood in the kitchen. They had removed the empty package from the hallway and Myka’s phone was resting on the island counter top. Two pairs of eyes quickly flashed over the Victorian and they were both relieved to find most of their friend gazing back at them.

“What news from the Warehouse?” Helena asked as her hands gripped the edge of the faux-marble surface. “Have they found anything?”

“You and Myka were right about our suspect,” Leena began softly. She wasn’t sure how the inventor was going to react, but she and Steve were in agreement that this was better news.

HG reached automatically for her locket before realising that she’d put it away several weeks ago in an attempt to move on from the past. Her fingers curled uselessly into a fist against her chest as she stumbled over the name, “Christina?”

“So she says, and Claudia is certain it’s her. Artie is his usual self about the subject.” Steve saw the faraway look in the Victorian’s eyes and simply added, “She turned up at the Warehouse a few minutes ago.”

Knowing that she would be unable to reconcile her daughter’s actions with what happened earlier that day until she had answers, Helena ran her hands through her hair and patted her pocket to check her keys were still there. “If that is where she is, then that is where I must be also.” She turned from the room, her mind singularly focused.

Pete caught up with her in the driveway and stepped in front of the offside door. “I’ll drive.”

“I am perfectly capable of manoeuvring this vehicle,” she griped.

“You’re distracted and you need time before getting behind the wheel.” When she didn’t seem inclined to agree he crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you know how much trouble I’ll be in when Myka gets back if she hears you’ve been in an accident and that I let you drive?”

Mimicking his stance, a small, ever-so-slightly-mean smirk appeared at the corner of her mouth. “And I should be concerned about that because...”

“Any punishment I get will go twice for you, and I’m not talkin’ handcuffs. It’ll be yelling and then the silent treatment.” He grinned when she practically threw her keys at him. He patted her retreating form on the head and then jumped into the driver’s seat, ignoring the expletive she muttered in what he was fairly certain wasn’t English. When they were both buckled in, he started the engine and backed carefully passed Steve’s Prius. “I know this sucks and all but I’m not getting any hinky vibes.”

“I was under the impression that your ‘vibes’ were causing you some consternation.” Helena was staring out of the window, still smarting from not being allowed to drive. When her statement met with silence for longer than was usual for a response, she glanced at her fellow agent and noticed the strain in his expression. “They weren’t working as you expected them to,” she clarified slowly.

“That’s what I thought you were trying to say. Man, why is it that you and Mykes can’t seem to just say things plain?” He grumbled. “Though you are so much worse than she is.”

“I thought I had.” She wanted to roll her eyes at him and his stupidity, but caught herself.

That’s what she would have done some years ago, perhaps more so in her youth; looked down on the uneducated or those lacking ‘book smarts’. She’d done a lot of thinking since her time away from the Warehouse, met many kind and thoughtful people, and began to think that perhaps she was missing something by placing all of her values in one aspect of humanity.

Despite his faults, Pete was a gentle soul with a thirst and optimism for life that she didn’t always manage to retain. That was just the person he was. He didn’t read anything that wasn’t printed in a comic book or on the back of a cereal box, and his manners left much to be desired, but he was forgiving, loyal and had an energy that had buoyed her mood unexpectedly. She doubted that this appreciation of his better qualities would outweigh her irritation with him for long, but it would do, for now.

She reached a hand towards him and placed it on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Their journey to the Warehouse was both too fast and too slow for the inventor’s liking. She wanted more time to adjust and decide how she felt about her future daughter’s presence, and whether she actually believed that it was her. At the same time, she wanted answers and a plan for her fiancée and their eight-year-old’s safe return.

Two days ago, she had been nervous about entering the Warehouse again for fear that something dreadful would happen to her family. Now she realised how irrational that fear had been. It hadn’t been her presence in the Warehouse that had triggered this nightmare, this investigation had started over a month ago, when the guards in Hollywood had disappeared under suspicious circumstances. Artefacts just seemed to find her and she figured that perhaps it was about time she accepted that.

This time, as she stepped into the operational headquarters of the Warehouse and smelt a familiar faint scent of apples, she wasn’t nervous. Her concern for Myka and Christina, and her curiosity over the involvement of time travel, outweighed any residual fear she had.

Determination written on her face, HG scanned the room, her eyes passing over Artie, Claudia and Agent Coombs only to come up empty and return once more to the redhead. She was aware of their cautious, curious and confused gazes on her but dismissed their feelings as a distraction.

“Where is she?” She asked the young tech expert as calmly as she could manage.

Claudia opened her mouth to respond but Artie beat her to the punch. “Before you run off and do anything rash, Agent Wells, I want to make a few things clear.” He moved to stand in front of her, his expression grave. “There will be no vendettas; no making or using artefacts without consultation and agreement with the whole team; no use of excessive force, and no running off half-cocked. Do you understand?” He knew he couldn’t afford to go easy on her but he softened a bit as he took in the slump in her shoulders. “This could be your last chance to prove that you can control yourself.”

Taking his words as the warning they were, Helena placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not going to give the Regents an excuse to Bronze me again, or get rid of me permanently. I am going to do everything in my power to get them back though.”

Grunting, he nodded his acceptance. “It’s a fine line between the two. We all want them back; they’re just as much our family. You need to trust that we will do everything in our power to help.”

HG took a steadying breath to quiet her impatience. “Has she told you anything yet? What she did? Where they are?”

Claudia swivelled in her chair to face the inventor. “Jinksy didn’t tell you?”

Helena glanced at Pete who looked mildly guilty. “What exactly was he supposed to have told me?”

Deciding to rip off the news like a band-aid, she said quickly, “She sent them back to 1890.” As the Victorian’s jaw dropped, the redhead took a slow breath and then added, “To London.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Myka’s fingers held tight to the fabric of her daughter’s coat. The spinning had finally stopped, and though the force of it had brought her to her knees, she didn’t feel hurt in any way. As she regained her senses, the panic returned and her arms instinctively wrapped around Christina to pull her closer.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” Hands searched frantically for injuries, but a sigh of relief swept over her when a small giggle reached her ears.

“That tickles,” the eight-year-old confessed from her crouched position. When the hands stopped, she looked around and frowned as she realised that they were no longer at home. “Mama, what happened?”

Finally taking in her surroundings, Myka tried not to overreact as she realised that, not only were they outside and it was dark, but she didn’t recognise any of their surroundings.

Mismatched cobbles led a path between two rows of dingy town houses, casting a gloomy shadow over mother and child. The faint, sickly-yellow glow of a street lamp struggled against the darkness as overhead a gibbous moon hid behind drifting clouds. There was a bite in the air that hinted at the makings of a hard frost and the agent was suddenly very glad that she and Christina had not gotten as far as removing their coats.

She looked down at the object Christina had dropped and now that she could see the whole thing, she realised what it was. Taking a spare static bag and a glove from her pocket, she told the girl to shield her eyes and dropped it inside. Nothing happened.

Wrapping the bag tightly, she placed it in an inside zip pocket of her coat and then buttoned the garment up again. “I’m not sure. It seems inactive now, but whatever was in that package must have been an artefact.” She wanted to take her time to figure out all the details, including who had sent the box, but her practical side quickly won out, making her realise that the how and why weren’t nearly as important right then as the where. Where were they now? Where were they going to go? Her priority had to be to get out of the cold.

A small whimper sounded beside the adult. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to touch it. It was an accident.” Any mirth left in the child’s tone disappeared as the gravity of the situation began to dawn on her and her eyes filled with tears. “What will Mummy do all alone?”

Kneeling beside her daughter, Myka’s green eyes found dark brown orbs and held them. “Mummy won’t be alone. Think of all the people who are at home to help her,” she closed her eyes briefly to send a wish into the ether that she was right, and then shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Sweetheart, I know this is scary. We don’t know where we are or what we’re going to do, but think of it like a new adventure. Do you remember when we were in Limbo?”

“We were trapped,” Christina recalled. “You told me we would have to solve a puzzle.”

“And did we?” Myka smiled at the memory as she wiped away the girl’s tears.

The eight year old nodded enthusiastically. “You solved the puzzle and Mummy rescued us.”

“And you helped. Which is what we’re going to do again. Or at least, we’ll try.” She put a hand on each of the girl’s cheeks and kissed her forehead. “You and me, ok?”

A wavy-haired head bobbed up and down. “Ok. What shall we do first?”

“We’re going to find out where we are and find somewhere to stay.” She straightened up and took hold of her daughter’s hand. “Just remember, stay close to me unless I tell you otherwise.”

Although on first inspection, the streets and buildings had appeared completely unfamiliar, the further Myka and Christina wandered, the more they were reminded of a place they both knew.

Taking a deliberately circuitous route at first, Myka was able to begin mental construction of a map and before long, they arrived on a street that was lined with shops. She was relieved to see English as a continuing theme. Though she was confident enough in her ability to get along with many languages, seeing her mother tongue made things simpler. She was almost certain that she knew the where now. The particular streets they’d walked were not immediately known to her, but the names had a feel about them that struck a chord. As they passed a used books shop, a haberdashers and a tailors, the agent’s sharp hearing caught the sound of rough voices up ahead.

Myka looked the opposite way up the street but saw nothing much of interest. It seemed that the only hint of civilisation at this time of night was towards the sound of the disturbance. “Christina, do you think you know where we might be?” she opened the floor to input, hoping that conversation would help distract the girl from their plight.

There was a pause before a tentative voice answered, “London?”

“That was my thought too,” the older brunette agreed.

“I thought it might be different now,” the girl wondered aloud. “Mummy said that lots of things have changed.”

Myka glanced around for more evidence that might confirm her suspicion, noting singled paned windows, something in the road that looked like horse manure and gas lanterns. “I don’t think we’re in the twenty-first century any more, Sweetie.” She felt Christina hold tighter to her hand and smiled down at her in what she hoped was a reassuring way.

The new pieces of this puzzle were coming together in a way that made her hope she was wrong. All the clues seemed to come back to her and Christina, and their connection to Helena. She wished she knew for sure whether it had been an older Christina who’d sent the artefact to her door. It seemed almost certain now that whoever it was knew her family well, but having the woman’s identity confirmed would narrow down the motives and might provide some clearer answers to their current predicament.

As the voices became louder, Myka realised that they were approaching a public house and hesitated for the first time. They needed answers and shelter but she was reluctant to take her daughter into such a place.

Deciding that they could always double back, the agent tried her luck down a smaller side street and found that she was looking at two men in suits walking towards them. No matter how rowdy the company in the ale-house might be, Myka knew that the crowd was a safer option and pivoted smoothly round.

A quick double take told her that they were now being followed. _Great._

“Oi!” A loud, bellows voice greeted them as they passed The Bear and Staff. “’Ere, darlin’! You bin in yer feller’s drawers?” His hacking laugh was joined by two others and Myka walked smartly onward, ignoring the comments that followed, her concerns still with the well dressed men walking a consistent distance behind them. “’Ere love, don’t be like that. I’ll give you me britches if you can wrestle me out of ‘em!”

Once they were a small distance away, Christina asked, “Mama. Why was that man shouting at you?”

“I’m guessing that he’s drunk and I don’t think the men of this time are used to seeing a woman in pants.” The end of the street brought them out onto a narrower path and the towering buildings either side of them gave way to black, sparkling sky and water. Making a quick decision, the agent steered them left and picked up the pace.

In the distance, over the width of the river that she now recognised as the Thames, they could see two very familiar landmarks.

“Big Ben!” the eight-year-old exclaimed with excitement.

“And the Houses of Parliament.” Myka added, and then, “But no Eye. I think we can safely assume now that the artefact makes time travel possible.” Her conclusion was greeted by silence and she squeezed her daughter’s hand again to reassure her. “I’m not worried about that at the moment though,” she warned carefully. “I think we’re being followed. What do you say to stopping and taking in the sights?”

Somehow, without being told the particulars, Christina realised that she was being asked for her approval. She was scared, hungry and beginning to tire but she nodded slowly and allowed her mother to guide her towards the wall banking the river.

Myka wrapped her arms around her daughter’s shoulders, blanketing her from behind as she pretended to take in the scenery. The two men stood on a street corner some hundred yards away, one appearing relaxed while the other seemed agitated. Something told her that he would be trouble.

“Christina,” Myka began after a few minutes of quiet observation. “I think we might be better off returning to that bar and asking for directions. There must be a boarding house or something around here.”

“We haven’t got any money,” the astute girl reminded her curly-haired parent.

“You let me worry about that. I have one or two things we could sell.” She glanced at their stalkers who were still hanging around. “Will you be alright coming into the bar with me though?”

“Will those men shout at you again?” Christina’s worried gaze peered through long eyelashes, the uncertainty and fear there pulling at the adult’s heartstrings.

“It’s likely, but while there are other people around, we will be safer. They can’t do us much harm just by shouting,” she took a moment to think, contemplating how they were going to turn back on themselves without running into their followers. “We might have no choice but to keep walking though. I’m sure there must be another bar closer by.”

“Uncle Charles used to say that the public houses were the most reliable businesses in London. ‘Regularly frequented by the gay of spirit and disheartened alike’,” the young girl quoted. “I don’t want to go back to that one.”

“It’s settled then, we’ll keep walking.” She tried to remain nonchalant in her movements as she took her daughter’s hand again and turned away from the direction they’d come.

Like a weather vane in a changing breeze, the agent’s head turned this way and that, using her peripheral vision to keep the men that were on the move again in view. Two became one in the blink of an eye and Myka felt her stomach muscles clench in fear.

Her mind flitted through the possibilities and brought up horrific images of all the gruesome crimes she’d ever read about in a London Victorian novel. Jack the Ripper sprang to mind, but with that thought came the knowledge that her fiancée, her Helena, had defeated that brute. The idea of her lover kicking ass chased away the worst of her dread and she concentrated on remembering that she was a trained government agent and had dealt with all manner of threats in her life.

Wherever the second man had gone, she knew it wasn’t the last she’d see of him. With the next bridge in sight, she hoped to get to it before being trapped, but even as she quickened her pace, she realised that her chances were slim. She couldn’t expect Christina to be able to outrun them, she couldn’t carry the girl and get away; her only option was to stand and fight.

So it was that, when the smaller of the two men appeared from a side street and stood before them, she brought Christina to a halt and pushed the girl behind her, her back to the river as she faced the pair.

“Don’t come any closer!” She warned them fiercely, feeling her maternal instinct merge with her sense of self-preservation.

Fierce forest-green locked onto the taller man, sizing him up and zoning in on the hand in his pocket. Adrenaline flowed, accentuating her acuity, speeding up her heart rate, activating the renewed fluttering of fear for Christina’s safety. Her gaze shifted as the smaller of the two men stepped closer. _What I wouldn’t give for my Tesla,_ she thought desperately.

“We have to search you, Miss. You may be carrying something dangerous.”

His words gave her pause and for the briefest moment she wondered if they knew more about the situation that she’d assumed. Could they be agents too? She wanted to pause and question them but the way they were constantly closing in, and the greedy expression in the taller one’s eyes made her ever more cautious.

“You will not touch either of us,” she warned.

He sneered at her, as if she was a bug to be squashed. “Miss, if you choose not to co-operate, then we will have to use force.”

The image of either of them searching her or her daughter made her angry and she spoke for once without thinking. “Try it!” She touched Christina’s shoulder again, reassuring herself that the girl was still ok.

She was sure that she had never felt this afraid in her entire life. Even strapped to a chair with an axe hanging above her head, she had been somewhat collected in her thoughts. Even if her thoughts had consisted of nothing but _I still love you, Helena; I wish we’d had more time together,_ she hadn’t let her panic overwhelm her. But this wasn’t fear for her own life; that sort of fear gave her an edge. This was fear for another; fear for someone innocent; fear for someone who was unable to protect themselves. It was all consuming, irrational and a hindrance to someone who relied on clean, crisp thought to get the job done.

It wasn’t clear who made the first move. Some part of Myka decided that they were too close and she struck out like a wounded animal. Despite her delicate condition, she had been sure to keep in shape, but though she knew her movement reflected her years of honed skill, it felt awkward. The fight was more of a scramble than she was used to and with half her thoughts still worried about her daughter, she knew her focus wasn’t where it should be.

Noting that the smaller man was more calculating, taking his time to find a way through her defence, she sent the taller one flying to the ground before turning to face the next attack.

There was no time to realise her mistake as she felt the sting of electricity hit her. The world was dark before her body collapsed, the only thing of note being the fading scream that her heart reached out for blindly.

* * * * *

Clawing her way to consciousness, the first thing Myka became aware of was hushed voices. Her head hurt and her limbs were stiff. She remembered instantly what had happened and panic filled her chest as she wondered what had become of Christina.

Eyes squinted into a dimly lit room and she winced at the pain in her head. It reminded her of the moment she and Pete had woken up in Warehouse 2; the brief second of confusion and discomfort before she recalled the reason they’d been incapacitated. Now that she thought about it, hadn’t there been a crackle of electricity before she’d hit the ground? Could these people be from the Warehouse after all? There methods were far more barbaric than she was used to.

Clinging to the surface she was lying on, Myka rose slowly to a sitting position and took a cautious look around, being careful not to turn too quickly one way or the other.

From what she could tell through the poor illumination, she was in some sort of study. The chaise longue she now realised she was sitting on was the only furniture other than a desk and chair, but the adornments covering the walls, surfaces and fireplace leant the room a semi-cluttered but cosy look. Gas wall lanterns were turned down low and Myka soon realised that they were the source of the strange odour she had sensed.

_I need to find Christina,_ her brain reminded her after several seconds of finding her bearings. The mother in her was already in a panic, her imagination playing wildly with one scenario after another, but the agent in her was somewhat calmer, taking in her location and the fact that she wasn’t seriously hurt; someone had taken the time to help her. Hopefully, that same person had her daughter too.

Her memory ran to their arrival in this time and she noted with trepidation that her coat was missing, and likely with it, the artefact. Praying that she had recovered enough not to be sick, she pushed herself up onto shaky legs and bit by bit, made her way to the door.

The voices were louder here and she stopped to listen in, hoping to glean something of use from the muffled conversation.

_“... recommended that he be suspended from all active investigations until he can prove that he is able to conduct himself in a manner more befitting to his profession. He will have to undergo some rigorous training.”_

_“Personally, I think we should leave him to the carrion, but I do believe you might be correct in your assessment of his character. The last thing we need right now is an ex-agent with a vendetta.”_

The voices were unfamiliar; neither of them belonged to the men she’d fought on the bank of the Thames. The first one had a feeling of authority in his tone but it was laced with something else that immediately put Myka at ease. The following female voice held similar weighted conviction but was sharper and less forgiving.

They were talking about her assailants, she was sure of it. What had they used to knock her out? What had happened after the fight? Where were they now and who were these people?

Fighting to remember, Myka considered their attackers’ motives and thought harder about what the shorter one had said to her – _you may be carrying something dangerous_. In retrospect, he seemed genuinely concerned for her wellbeing. Her captors had to be discussing the taller man.

The male voice continued to placate his companion and in turn, hers took on a note of resignation.

_“It has been reported. If necessary, we will meet with the other Regents and vote on his fate.”_

_“In the meantime, let’s hope that the Warehouse can contain him.”_

_“He will be dealt with, love. We have more pressing concerns.”_

_“Indeed.”_

There was a pause and the sound of another door opening before the woman’s voice softened.

_“Ah, here she returns. Looking, and feeling much better I dare say. Have you had enough to eat my dear?”_

_“Yes, thank you.”_

Christina’s polite tone reached across the room and through the closed door to her mother, and Myka couldn’t help her instinctive reaction. Tugging at the doorknob, she fumbled for a moment before it turned and the door swung open. No sooner had she moved than the eight-year-old was bounding across the room towards her. Still weak, her knees trembled and she had to cling to the doorframe as she sank to the floor, the perfect height to receive a very relieved little time traveller.

“Mama, you’re ok!”

Myka winced at the volume but pulled the small body closer so she could wrap her arms firmly around the girl. For several seconds, she breathed in the scent of her hair and allowed it to comfort her.

“Percy, please tell Dr. Gravestock that his patient is awake,” the gentleman ordered as he crossed the room to help his guest to her feet.

Myka felt a flush of embarrassment at not being able to stand on her own, and took the offered hand reluctantly. “Thank you,” she said as he led her and Christina towards a couch.

Annexing the small study, Myka had walked into a well proportioned sitting room, with two long couches and three high-backed chairs forming a central ‘conversation pit’, and an entire wall that seemed dedicated to making the fireplace an unavoidable focal point. The same dark woods and fabrics created an atmosphere that Myka had only ever been able to imagine from pictures and stories.

An atmosphere that she imagined frequently – during her many private fantasies involving her fiancée and a certain house in London.

“Don’t mention it, my dear,” he replied in dismissal. “Had I been quicker on my feet, I should have acted before you had come to any harm. You were managing remarkably well before I reached you though, I might add,” he finished with a friendly smile.

Myka hesitated a moment as she calculated her response. Her gut told her that these people could be trusted. Not only had they rescued her and Christina, but by the sound of their conversation, they were Regents of the Warehouse too. It was still a great risk to open with questions about the Warehouse, its agents and its artefacts.

At that last thought, she remembered her missing coat.

She needed that artefact.

To fill the silence and stretch the time she had, Myka fussed over her daughter, reassuring her that they would be ok and surreptitiously checking her over for injuries. Within seconds of her ministrations ceasing, the eight-year-old yawned and melted into her side. Picking up a nearby cushion, she placed it on her lap and encouraged Christina to lay her head down.

“Those men who attacked me?” She finally asked, stroking dark, wavy hair as she focussed her attention on their hosts.

There was a moment’s hesitation as the couple looked to one another and appeared to communicate without words. A subtle nod from his wife prompted the gentleman to lean forward, his expression serious but entreating.

“Our agents overstepped their boundaries tonight. They trained to protect, not harm. We deeply regret that they chose to use force rather than reason.” He held her gaze as he added, “Some objects, like the one you were carrying, can have unexpected behaviours. Some are extremely dangerous. They were to remove it from your possession, that is all.”

“They’re Warehouse agents,” she concluded, surprising the couple.

There had to be an unspoken rule for situations such as this; a ‘temporal directive’ to govern her actions so as not to pollute the timeline, but she couldn’t see a way out of her situation without help from the Warehouse. Common sense would have to make do in the absence of any formal mandate. Being honest in a limited capacity seemed to her a good place to start.

“I need that artefact,” she stated simply.

“Are we to take it that you know what it is and what it does?” the lady of the house asked, surprised.

_In for a penny..._ “I know that it belongs in the Warehouse. Those _were_ Warehouse agents, weren’t they? And if I had to guess, I’d say you were Regents.” Deciding to be as honest as she could, she added, “I heard your conversation through the door and made the connection, which I’m grateful for; this is hard enough without involving more civilians.” She kept her voice deliberately friendly and calm. If she were in their shoes, she would be cautious of an outside party having knowledge of the mystical entity she worked for. It wouldn’t help her if they decided that she was a threat after all.

“Would you care to explain how you know all this?” Leaning forward like her husband, the elder woman began to re-evaluate their guest. There was a bright spark of intelligence behind that green gaze and, even while exhausted and injured, it shone with a keen edge.

Biting her lip, Myka agonised for a moment over the question. “I don’t know how much to tell you,” she admitted at last with a sigh.

Taking pity on the young woman, the lady of the house relaxed once more into her chair. “I think perhaps introductions are in order first; we’ve been rather remiss thus far. Since you seem to know all about it anyway, I suppose it does no harm now to admit that we are Regents of Warehouse Twelve; my husband, Harold Wells,” she gestured to her right and then to herself, “Mrs. Eleanor Wells.”

Myka’s eyes widened at this new information and she only just managed to keep her astonishment from tumbling out of her mouth. _Helena’s grandma Norrie!?_ Instead, she forced her own name forward. “Myka Bering. Agent of Warehouse Thirteen.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

For several minutes after their introductions, Myka’s attention was taken up by the arrival of Dr. Gravestock, who did nothing more than ask how she felt and check the dilation of her pupils. He left with the suggestion that she rest and stay hydrated. She thanked him with relief, having feared the worst from an archaic understanding of medicine; she was sure that her own short education on the subject surpassed his entire lifetime of experience.

Though not concerned for her own well-being (it was just a headache after all), she did wish that she had the option of a sonogram and a twenty-first century midwife. She had no idea what being hit by the Warehouse equivalent of a stun-gun would do to her unborns, but the pregnancy was one thing she wanted to keep to herself for as long as possible.

Without the doctor, Myka was forced to face the two regents again. “I can’t explain how that artefact came into my possession other than it was in a package and I grabbed Christina just as she touched it. I don’t want to alter the timeline any further than I might have done already. I need that artefact to take us home.”

Fervently hoping that she was right in trusting the two regents, Myka waited with baited breath for their response.

“You’re from the future?” Eleanor thought aloud, visually reassessing the self-confessed time-traveller. “That rather explains the peculiar manner in which you are dressed. We may have to find something less conspicuous for you while we solve this dilemma. In the meantime, I think it would be best if you remained here and kept a low profile.”

Myka nodded slowly, grateful for a comfortable roof over their heads. “And the artefact?”

Rupert exchanged another look with his wife, apparently a habit they had when making decisions. She nodded solicitously. “If you really are a Warehouse agent, then you’ll know that we can’t authorise the use of an artefact without corroborating your story and assuring the usability of the artefact.”

“Have you already taken it to the Warehouse? I should probably have the bag back. The Warehouse won’t start using them for a long while yet.” She stifled a yawn and reached up to rub at the space between her eyebrows. It made sense for them to take precautions but the idea of waiting for these people to decide if she was or wasn’t allowed to try felt as patronising as when her own superiors did it. In light of how some agents behaved though, she guessed their caution had some merit. It wouldn’t do her any good to argue at this stage. “I should probably tell you that the artefact became dormant when we arrived here. There was no reaction when I neutralised it; we will have to find a way to re-activate it.”

“All in good time, dear,” Mrs. Wells cautioned kindly. “Tonight, you must eat, drink and rest. Doctor’s orders.” She rose gracefully from her seat and spoke quickly to the attendant waiting by the door. “Percy will have a room ready for you shortly and one of the girls is preparing some supper. I imagine the two of you will want to share a room?”

“Yes,” Myka agreed immediately, not liking the idea of letting Christina out of her sight for even a minute.

By the time she was in bed; fed, watered and clothed for the evening, with her daughter tucked neatly into her side and snoring lightly; the futuristic agent found sleep elusive. Thoughts fought for dominance inside her mind; she needed a plan, but despite the urgency, the only thing she could settle on for any length of time was Helena.

Helena, who must be in agony at the sudden disappearance of her entire immediate family. Who must be battling hard against old demons in an effort to retain the person she had grown into. Helena, who made such strides to protect Myka from the dangers of their jobs, only to have her loved ones vanish from her own home. Helena of the future, who had suffered incredible torments before finally finding a new life in a new world.

The Helena who Myka loved with all her heart. And now...

London. The Warehouse. November 1890, as she’d been informed by the elder Wells duo.

Myka did the quick calculation and figured that the young HG Wells would be in the early stages of her pregnancy with Christina. She might not even realise it yet.

She had been tempted to ask after her future fiancée, to see if her suspicions were correct regarding the familial names, but in the end decided to refrain. Asking about Helena would only draw attention to a possible connection on her side and that would create more questions that she could answer. Her best bet was to keep her mouth closed and her eyes open. Her eye for detail was why she’d been chosen for the Warehouse in the first place. If Rupert and Eleanor were HG’s grandparents, there would be evidence around somewhere.

In the morning, she would have the unfortunate task of explaining to Christina how she should behave in a world where she didn’t exist yet. For an eight-year-old who missed her extended family from the distant Victorian era, restraint would be a challenge. Myka knew that her daughter was exceptional, but she was not so far removed from her own childhood that she couldn’t appreciate the strain it would have on a young mind.

Her last thought before succumbing to sleep was hope for a quick end to this unexpected adventure.

* * * * *

Christina stirred in her Mama’s arms, blinking away the sleep that stung still tired eyes. From her position in the room, facing away from the bed and towards the single window, she could make out familiar shapes that had been inconsequential to her the night before.

She vaguely remembered being woken and half led, half carried to bed. Her hands had instinctively clung to her Mama, fearing the idea of being left alone in this eerily familiar place. A distant part of her mind was aware that travelling back in time to London might bring her close to places and people she knew. Her mother and uncle Charles had grown up in and around London, and her grandparents had resided in one of the richer areas in neighbouring Kent.

After watching Myka fall under the effects of the electric gun, she had screamed and covered her Mama’s body with her own, starring daggers at the two men who hovered over her until an older gentleman, with kind eyes, sent them on their way. When more men arrived to pick up her mother’s motionless body, she’d screamed again, forcing them to let go and prompting the return of the gentleman.

Leaning over his cane, he’d spoken slowly and calmly, introducing himself as Mr. Wells and asking after her name. ‘Christina’ she’d said, sniffing and wiping away tears.

Eventually, she’d taken his offered hand and watched as her Mama was carried to his carriage.

Somehow, she’d known that she needed to keep her own surname to herself. Her mothers had told her repeatedly that knowledge was powerful and there were times that you had to be careful how much of that power you gave to another person. Particularly strangers.

Through a narrow gap in the curtain, a thin beam of light shone, cutting in two a chair before laying itself along the foot of the bed. Beginning to feel more awake, Christina followed the trail, twisting round and pushing herself up to see if it had reached the bottom of the door. Mindless of the edge of the bed, she leant back, her hand slipping against a sliver of sheet, mouth opening in a silent cry of shock as she began to fall and eyes squeezing shut in anticipation of the pain that was sure to come.

When her downward momentum appeared to miraculously halt, the eight-year-old opened one eye and chanced a look around.

“I don’t think this is the best time to practise swan-diving off the bed, Sweetheart,” Myka’s half amused, half anxious voice rose from the depths of a pillow. One green eye centred on Christina, while one arm wrapped firmly around her waist, denying gravity. She pulled the girl back into her body and kissed her head. “I suppose it must be morning if you’re up and bouncing around.”

“There’s light at the window, Mama.” Christina turned to face the adult fully and played with the messy curls trapped against the pillow. “What are we to do now?” she asked softly.

“A plan?” Myka stalled. Her fingers stroked through dark waves and as happened on occasion, the faceless figure of a man with a head of curls flitted across her mind.

She could count on one hand the number of times she’d thought about ‘him’, though with each moment spent in contemplation of  her daughter’s origins had come the sharp edge of envy. ‘He’ had been a ghost then and still the idea of him had irked her. Now, he was quite likely very alive and possibly very close by. Myka wasn’t sure he would survive a hormone driven encounter with her and yet, he was partially to thank for the precious gift that lay in her arms.

“Does this always happen with artefacts?” Christina prompted as her Mama’s thoughtful silence drifted on.

The Warehouse both fascinated and scared her. She remembered being very small and sneaking down the stairs one night to see her mummy’s friend, Woolly cleaning a gash on her calf. She remembered the curses that had spilled from her mother’s mouth as he followed her direction and used a clear liquid to wipe away the dirt to prevent infection. There had been blood and she remembered lying awake for a long time picturing more blood, until there was nothing left of her mummy. She remembered waking with Mummy’s arms wrapped around her, rocking her gently and whispering soothing words in her ear. A nightmare. Her first in connection to the Warehouse.

Then there were the times that her mother was at home for several days together, with nothing to do other than devote all her waking hours to her daughter’s amusement. She told countless stories and Christina would ask if the magical objects in those stories were real. _“Only the bravest and most cunning ever glimpse the endless wonders of this world and see them for what they truly are,”_ her mother had told her in a mystical sort of voice. It had taken her some time to really appreciate that her Mummy was one of those bravely cunning, cunningly brave people, and that the impossible wonders of which she spoke, were in fact very real. In the days that would follow one of these stories, she would imagine herself as the heroine, rushing in to save the innocent and rob the guilty of their ill-deserved treasures, returning said items to the magical place where her mother worked.

Her time spent in the future had changed her perspective somewhat. Mama told less fantastical stories (when she wasn’t reading from a book), usually sticking to a version of the truth, and Mummy was less enthusiastic about going away on her adventures. As exciting as it had been, waiting for Mummy to return home, wondering what gift she’d managed to procure and anticipating a new story; life was better now Mummy was with Mama.

Mama made everything softer, calmer; life had a new rhythm where she and Mummy were much happier. She didn’t have to think too hard to know that her home was in the twenty-first century and that she didn’t want to stay in the past where she’d been born.

Myka blinked at the question, recovering from her temporary emersion into her own thoughts. “There are usually side effects to using an artefact but I’ve never heard of anyone successfully travelling through time.”

“Mummy built a time machine,” the eight-year-old reminded the adult.

Smiling at the hint of pride in the girl’s tone, Myka explained how Helena’s invention could only transport one’s consciousness through time and not their corporeal form. “As far as I know, we are the first two people to actually travel into the past.”

“How are we going to get home?” Christina asked after a short pause.

The agent studied her daughter’s expression, finding trust beneath a thin layer of concern. Trust in her to find a solution. As always, she searched for an explanation that while close to the truth, would not scare the young girl too much. Telling her that right now she had no clue where they should begin would not be helpful.

“I hope we can use the artefact from this house, but I may have to visit the Warehouse with Mr. Wells.” She saw Christina’s eyes narrow in thought and knew instinctively what was on her mind. They would come back to the name later. “We have a comfortable place to stay, which is more than we had when we got here. I don’t want you to worry too much, Sweetheart. I don’t know how long it will take to work this out, but I think as long as you are polite and respectful, Mrs. Wells won’t mind you exploring a bit and playing. I’m sure I saw a library on our way up to our room last night too.”

Eyes lighting up a little, the younger of the two took a moment to think of all the adventures and make believe games she could play in this house. She had spoken to Mrs. Wells the previous evening and agreed with her Mama’s assessment; she seemed pleasant and not overly strict. It might be nice not to have formal lessons for a while. To just use her free time as she wanted without projects, experiments and research. First though, she had questions that required answers.

“That doesn’t sound too bad, as long as we do find a way home.” She paused. Her bed companion waited patiently. “Mama, they have my name. Does that mean we’re related? Will we see Mummy when she was a girl?”

“Christina, I have a theory,” the agent began voicing the thoughts that had been circulating around her mind. “I don’t know for sure yet; it’s entirely possible that you share their name by coincidence, but I’m beginning to wonder if we haven’t been sent here for a reason and not just by accident; something that involves yours and your mother’s family.” She saw her daughter hanging onto her every word, as she usually did, and kissed her forehead; a reassuring gesture for both of them. “Eleanor told me that the year is 1890; the year before you were born.” She hesitated, searching for any hint of distress behind dark eyes, but if the girl was upset in any way, the bright film of curiosity hid it. “So Mummy will be a young woman in this time, not a little girl.”

Christina pouted slightly. “That’s a shame. I think it would have been amusing to play with her when she was my age.”

“I’m not so sure,” Myka disagreed with a playful half grin. “The way Mummy tells it, she was a lot wilder than you. I don’t think I’d trust her to be a good influence on you. The two of you get into enough trouble at home as it is!” She chuckled at the shared joke, teasing the eight-year-old who grinned, making her puppy-dog eyes completely unconvincing.

They giggled for a few moments before Myka remembered the girl’s original question and sobered. “Sweetie... You understand that Mummy won’t know who we are if we do meet her, don’t you?” she asked with concern. “Anybody you knew when you lived in London with Mummy won’t have met you yet.”

Ever so slowly, Christina’s happy expression faded and she nodded. “I’ll have to remember to call Mummy ‘Helena’?”

“Or ‘Miss. Wells.”

“It’s confusing,” the young time traveller declared as the abundance of information finally began to overwhelm her and she snuggled closer to her Mama, tucking her head under Myka’s chin. “I did so want to talk to Uncle Charlie again.”

“I know, Sweetheart... I know,” Myka soothed as she gently rocked them side to side.

* * * * *

It took a while to coax Christina out of her funk once she realised the impact of finding herself surrounded by family who didn’t know that she was one of their most precious members. Myka reminded her of the family that waited for them back in the future and eventually managed to convince her to treat their adventure like a play, where every place that wasn’t their assigned room was the stage and her character was ‘Miss. Bering’. They chatted about their characters and created simple back-stories that would be easy to remember.

She allowed her daughter to have fun with her part, knowing that the longer this excursion dragged on, the harder it would be for both of them to keep their spirits up, and the more they were saddened by their extended stay, the longer it would appear to drag on. If she could keep Christina distracted the majority of the time, their situation wouldn’t seem so arduous to the young girl.

They had been left to lie in but soon enough both of their tummies were rumbling and Christina was quick to remind her Mama to feed the babies. They washed and dressed; the young girl showing her mother how to use the equipment that she was unfamiliar with. Before long, they were entering the dining room, being greeted by their hosts and shown to their seats.

“I hope you both slept well and that you are faring better this morning Mrs. Bering?” Mrs. Wells sat opposite her husband at the breakfast table, adding butter to her kippers as a maid poured her tea.

Myka and Christina took up one side of the table, leaving the other side open for servants to come and go with more plates of fish, bread, butter and all manner of breakfast paraphernalia. Christina tucked into the feast enthusiastically, appearing to blend into the setting well, her waves having been expertly pulled back into a bun by the girl who had brought her the period dress she wore, completing the picture of a well to do Victorian child. She was in her element, which only served to remind Myka how awkward she felt in her restrictive gown, itching to remove it and to explain that just because she had introduced Christina as her daughter; it didn’t mean that she was married.

As she’d attempted to encourage Christina to do, she tried to imagine that she was participating in some sort of period drama, an adaptation of a favourite novel or simply a re-enactment of a time long passed. Every time someone called her Mrs. Bering, she wanted to look around to see if her mother was there. It was important that she play her part though. She didn’t know how long they might be stuck here and they didn’t want to raise too many questions. They might not be always confined to this house.

The strong smells were testing her ability to block off the part of her brain that was making her stomach churn uncomfortably, and she tried to school her face into an expression of apt politeness as she grazed on a piece of toast. “My headache has gone, thank you.”

Despite her efforts, something untoward must have showed in her voice because the moment she caught Eleanor’s gaze, she spotted shrewd understanding. With a lazy wave of her hand, she summoned a young woman in a pinafore and gestured to Myka as she said, “I believe Mrs. Bering would benefit from a spot of fresh air. Would you please show her to the veranda and bring some toast to the sun room.” She turned back to Christina who had separated from her breakfast long enough to send a worried look across the table. “Young Miss. Bering and I will join her once we’ve polished off these marvellous kippers.”

Hesitating only for a moment, the agent stood and leant down to whisper in her daughter’s ear, “The babies don’t like the smell of fish.” She kissed the girl’s cheek as she moved with relief towards the door and the promise of freedom from the overwhelming odours. “Thank you,” she repeated to her host before following the maid out.

It was cold out on the veranda, the south facing garden still covered with the melted remnants of the night’s frost, but the occasional whip of chilly wind brought relief to the American’s pale features and she breathed in slow, even breaths as she wrapped a borrowed shawl tighter around her shoulders.

Lying in bed with Christina, Myka had struggled to word her concerns and misgivings without letting her know how worried she was herself. The time spent wide-awake the previous evening still played on her mind.

Helena had been so sure that the past was unchangeable, and as an authority on the subject, (the only person Myka had ever heard of who had successfully penetrated the untouchable oceans of the past with her time machine,) Myka had been inclined to believe her. So where did that leave them?

The butterfly effect? Alternate realities? Time paradoxes? Not even twenty-four hours into their visit, how much could their presence have already changed the future? Would they even have a home and a family to return to?

As the nausea subsided, the tears began.

Lost in space and time, Myka suddenly felt very alone with the weight of existence sitting on her shoulders. So many questions. So many decisions to make and possible ways that her choices could end in disaster.

She allowed herself a few moments to release the feeling of panic that she’d held at bay since she’d first realised that they were no longer in the twenty-first century. She anticipated these quiet, solitary moments being few and far between and in no time at all, she would have to present a brave face to the rest of the world.

Fortunately, Eleanor kept Christina entertained for almost half an hour before they joined her in the sunroom, leaving her enough time not only to dry her tears and begin formulating a plan, but finish the toast that had been left for her.

A tickly whisper appeared at her ear following the sudden opening of the door. “Are the babies ok now, Mama?”

Appreciating the girl’s ability to whisper successfully, Myka beamed, feeling relief for the familiar, innocent source of comfort. “Yes, Sweetheart. All better.”

Mrs. Wells watched this interaction closely, smiling at the easy way her two unexpected guests communicated with each other. She had been sceptical when first presented with the idea of a time travelling artefact, though had tried not to show it at the time. After further observation, she was beginning to believe. As she’d mentioned to Myka, the clothes they’d been wearing were very out of place, but that could have been explained away by the fashions of some quirky backwoods part of the Americas. The way they spoke could similarly be chalked up to cultural differences.

One curious observation she’d made was the ring this American wore. Clearly an engagement ring, which begged the question ‘where is its partner?’ Were women of the future permitted to raise children out of wedlock without censure? It was a hopeful thought. What tugged at her inquisitive nature further though was the carbon copy of her own cherished ring. Hers was unique in its design and mint; born out of unusual circumstances with one particular purpose. _The future..._ Could this woman’s ring be her own or was it merely a remarkable copy?

There were all manner of possible explanations more likely than time-travel, but Eleanor trusted her instincts as well as her sense of logic. There was something about the girl that reminded her of her granddaughter, and an air about the mother that inspired trust. Knowing Helena’s predilections, it would not be entirely surprising to find that ‘Mrs. Bering’ was more than an acquaintance, but those observations were best kept to herself. Together, they were an endearing pair and on many levels, the Regent felt duty bound to help.

“Christina has expressed a wish to explore the grounds,” she began once the girl in question released her mother from a crushing embrace. “Polly knows all the best spots. Shall we leave them to their explorations while we remain here to figure out your little problem? You can see much of the garden from this room,” she gestured to the windows that ran floor to ceiling, curving in a dome like shape and making Myka wonder if the Crystal Palace had had any influence in its design.

“Can I, Mama?” Christina pleaded, looking up through her eyelashes.

“As long as Mrs. Wells is happy with it, then of course.” She glanced at the lady of the house long enough to catch the slight nod. “Just stay close to the house please. If we need to stay more than a day or two, another time I’ll come and explore with you beyond the trees,” Myka promised, though secretly hoped that they would be home before then. She had seen a drawing of the grounds and though it wasn’t endless by any means, there were enough hidden paths and secluded spots to let her worry.

The eight-year-old’s expression flickered between disappointment and acceptance for several heartbeats before she acquiesced, kissed her mother’s cheek and ran off to find her coat.

Myka rolled her eyes fondly. “I hope she hasn’t been too much trouble,” she thought aloud. She didn’t really believe that her angel could be any sort of trouble, but it seemed like the thing to say.

“Not at all. She’s a darling little thing; full of questions one minute and then seems to catch herself, as if she realises that she’s being too excitable.” A wistful expression passed over the older woman’s face. “She rather reminds me of my Little One. Though I think your Christina could teach my Helena a thing or two about manners!”

Stomach turning over like she’d driven too fast over a small hill, Myka tried to hide her involuntary gasp with a chuckle. “Your daughter?” she feigned as the wheels in her head whirred. _How many Helenas can their possibly be in London?_

“Granddaughter,” Eleanor corrected even as she spotted the suspected recognition in Myka’s eyes.

Myka desperately wanted to pursue this line of questioning but put it away for another time and continued with her earlier thought, adding sheepishly, “I’m sorry about breakfast too. Maybe I should worry more about me being the troublesome one.” She had several excuses on the tip of her tongue, but one look at Eleanor made her hold back. Something about the Regent subconsciously encouraged her to tell the truth. Was it a look, the tone of voice or just the memories of many tales told to her about the Wells Matriarch’s more enlightened outlook on life? Whatever the trigger, the agent couldn’t bring herself to lie. “The smell of the fish was a little overpowering.”

“No need to explain. I experienced the same problem with my first pregnancy.” At the curly haired agent’s shocked expression, she smiled with smug triumph. “A mother knows these things,” she offered as her explanation. “Incidentally, we should discuss your ‘story’, in case anyone comes to call while you’re here. I realise that you don’t wear a wedding band.” Her gaze fell again to the engagement ring that was identical to her own. A question hovered in the back of her mind but she repressed it for now. “As unfortunate as the necessity may be, it would perhaps be best to continue the ruse that you are married.”

Frowning, Myka stiffened. “How do you know I’m not married? I might have lost my wedding ring.”

With a kind, patient smile, Eleanor sat back in her seat, relaxing as she prepared to educate the young mother. “First, as guarded as you are with what you say, your body language gives many things away. You flinch ever so slightly each time I address you as ‘Mrs. Bering’.”

Myka blushed. “And second?”

“Children are notoriously bad at remembering to stay in character. Bright as she is, it took a decidedly long time before Christina remembered that she was supposed to be ‘Miss. Bering’.”

“Is there a third or fourth point?” The agent asked in a spiky tone.

“I also suspect that you knew me, or rather, knew _of_ me before formal introductions were made. That knowledge may or may not have something to do with my granddaughter.” She tapped a finger lightly against the knuckles of her left hand. “Which raises the question; just how far from the future have you come?”

Raising an eyebrow at the shrewd woman, Myka felt a conflicting sense of fear and relief. It would make things much simpler if she had someone to confide in; someone who understood just how difficult it was to make decisions in this time, and as a Regent, Eleanor could help her to connect with the Warehouse. Just how far did this woman’s open-mindedness stretch though?

“Where do I begin?” The agent opened, finally relaxing from her professional mask and letting the elder woman see the conflict she held inside.

 


	4. Chapter 4

After hearing what had become of her family, Helena wandered idly to the nearest chair and sat down heavily. They were in Victorian London. Why? What was in London for Myka or Christina? Would their presence there affect the timeline? Was that even possible? The idea went against everything she’d studied and discovered about time-travel.

She threw her mind back to those early, exciting days with the Warehouse; the danger, the exhilaration, the competition with her fellow agents, the drive to prove herself, and not just in the field. She had been wild in an entirely different way back then; conquest had been as much a part of her life as science and adventure; the chase yet another type of experiment she’d indulged in.

Then Christina had entered her world and suddenly everything had changed. Was Myka’s existence in the same period significant to that pivotal moment in her life?

She had no recollection of a beautiful, green-eyed American or a young, charming eight-year-old though. Was time travel really possible or was there something else they were unaware of at work here? She supposed she wouldn’t begin to know until she questioned their futuristic guest.

“I need to speak with her,” she pulled her emotions in again as she stood. “Where is she?”

“Claudia sent her to the Pete Cave. Jason is keeping an eye on her,” Artie answered as he reclaimed his chair.

Feeling all eyes on her, as if she was on trial, the redhead tapped her feet to a steadying rhythm. “She was really tired. I figured we wouldn’t be doing anything until you got here so she might as well sleep.”

“Fine.” Still not sure how to feel, Helena didn’t see the harm in letting their guest rest. She only wished she could do the same. “Artie, if she is who she claims to be, will the Regents allow me to take her home, or will they insist on keeping her here?”

Surprise crossed the director’s face; he hadn’t considered where she would stay full time. “You want her in your home after what she did?”

“If she _is_ Christina then yes, of course I do. What reason would she have for deliberately hurting Myka and herself? There must be a logical explanation.” She made towards the door and then hesitated as she neared it. Turning back to the worried faces watching her, she singled out her mentee. “Claudia, would you mind accompanying me?”

Desperate to help, the red head rocketed from her chair, following her idol out of the office and down the winding stairs. She studied the Victorian’s demeanour from the side, noting with surprise that it wasn’t as slash-hackery as she’d expected. In fact, it was almost calm, and not in that scary way it was when she was hatching some devious plan. “You feel it too, don’t you? The Warehouse; it likes her.”

Helena slowed her gait, glanced at her companion and nodded. “Though I’m unsure whether to be comforted by that fact or not. What does the Warehouse want with my daughter?” Her eyes tracked the ceiling and shelves as if the answer was waiting for her there. Eventually, she turned back to her friend. “Did she say much more than where she sent them?”

“Not really. She was wigging out at Artie for making out like she was the villain and falling asleep on her feet. It was like she hadn’t really wanted to be a part of any of this but hadn’t seen any other choice. Whatever’s going on, she believes that what she did was for the best.”

HG stopped and swallowed a spike of anger, her voice hard as she hissed, “How the bloody hell can any of this be _for the best_?”

The red head remained calm, reciting what she’d learnt from her ‘niece’. “Look, HG; she says you and Myka talked her into it. She’s following orders. Your orders. I think she just wants to do the best for her family.”

Helena shook her head in disbelief. “I’m to believe that I authorised this?”

“Along with the Regents apparently. And your wife.” Claudia smirked slightly at the raised eyebrow that met her words. “Would you ever decide to go along with something like this if you thought Myka or Christina would get hurt?”

Emphatically, “No.”

“Then I think it’s not too big a stretch to think that they’re going to be ok,” the young computer whizz reassured, trying to keep things optimistic.

“It doesn’t matter how much I attempt to avoid this place, somehow it finds a way to drag me back in.” Helena sighed as she started walking in the direction of the Pete-Cave again. “I just wish it would leave my family alone,” she muttered to herself.

Claudia followed in silence, respecting the tentative control that the inventor was trying to maintain. As she watched HG approach the open doorway, she noticed her shoulders stiffen. Pausing by the entrance for several seconds, there came no noise but the turning of pages, and upon breeching the threshold, they found Jason curled up in a chair with a heavy book.

On seeing the two, he started from his seat, jumping to attention.

HG ignored him, letting her eyes drift to the far side of the room where a figure lay covered toe to chin with a tartan blanket. Her legs carried her forward of their own volition and she soon found herself staring down on the left side of a young woman’s face. She could make out the nose, straight and narrow like her own, but either the blanket or the tumbled cascade of light brown that made up her messy fringe obscured the rest of her features.

Her brain recommended caution; there still was not enough evidence to confirm the thief’s identity, but her heart leapt; she knew her child, knew as she had done after returning from Paris, that this person was an extension of her own soul.

Continuing to stare, the inventor listened to the whispered conversation across the room.

“How’s she been?” Claudia asked Jason as she pulled him closer to the door. Having witnessed the exhaustion on CJ’s face, she didn’t want to wake her.

The new recruit stood stiffly, still very aware that he was surrounded by legends. _HG Wells?! **The** HG Wells?_ was all he had said the day they’d been introduced and in hindsight he felt a little foolish for behaving like such a fanboy. Since then, he’d barely spoken to her, and each time he did manage to think of something to say, it came out garbled. Claudia was much easier to talk to.

“Restless. She hasn’t woken up yet, but she’s been tossing and turning, and talking about a cat, I think. Rick the cat?” He shrugged apologetically. “Other than that, it’s been uneventful. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

“Not to worry Jay-Jay, you were only keeping an eye on her.” She squeezed his arm, a gesture Myka had used on her several times to reassure her that she was doing a good job. “Head up top, Artie’s bound to have something he needs everyone’s attention on. Oh,” she held him back before he could disappear and stared at him seriously. “And if he has any oat scotchies, save me one.” She winked at him, enjoying the effect her teasing had on him as he relaxed and broke out into a grin. He returned the wink as he left.

Helena tore herself away to meet Claudia in the middle of the room. “What on Earth could make me do this?” she agonised aloud, searching the red head’s expression for an explanation. “Forcing Christina through this trial and discarding my family to the annals of history?”

“Something big must have happened, or will happen. Little Padawan is all grown up,” she gestured to the sleeping form. “She’s all Matrix, with the leaping and spinning, so Jinxie says. She kicked all three of your butts without breaking a sweat. You’ve obviously taught her well.”

HG shook her head. She was beginning to pace. “I don’t care what could be happening, I would not knowingly put my child in danger. Forfeit my own life? Absolutely. But not hers!”

The increase in volume stirred the sleeper and she shuffled beneath her blanket so that she could face the source of the disturbance. One eye peering across the room, her gaze fell on the outraged form of her mother and unbidden tears filled her vision.

“Mum?”

Helena turned to the sound of a choked voice and felt her anger immediately dissipate. One look at the distraught expression on those familiar features and her instincts kicked in. She was across the room in the blink of an eye, squeezing onto the couch, her arms wrapped securely around shaking shoulders, shushing and stroking in an attempt to chase away the muffled sobs that fell against her chest.

“Shhh, love. I’ve got you,” she muttered soothing words as she let short waves slide through her fingers. “You’re ok.”

A wet face rose to stare at her. “Mum, I’m sorry. I had to do it. I didn’t want to hurt them.”

“I know, my darling. I know.” The inventor cupped her hands against tear-stained cheeks and wiped uselessly against the rivers of anguish that continued to fall. She placed a loving kiss against a pale forehead and pulled the young woman back into her arms, returning to the gentle rocking until the shallow shudders within them slowed and finally ceased altogether.

Perhaps it should have felt bizarre, to be holding the adult version of her little girl, but to Helena, there was no distinction; she felt nothing but a mother’s love.

When it was almost quiet again, Helena pulled back and cupped her hands around each side of her daughter’s face, wiping more effectively this time at the drying tracks bisecting her cheeks. “Look at you,” she whispered in awe, smiling as a blush suffused the young woman’s face.

How many years had she spent in bronze, imagining how her daughter would look had she lived? The image of a gangly teenager morphing into a confident young woman who would set out to explore the world? A scientist following in her mother’s footsteps? An activist for equality? Even the performer to which the girl had aspired? Helena’s thoughts had even turned to convention; a bride radiant in white and someday a smiling mother? Perhaps eventually, the doting grandmother of a small brood? Images that had haunted her, driving her to madness with the knowledge that it was impossible. Her little girl lay entombed in a coffin, forevermore to remain eight-years-old.

Yet now, here she was; that impossible image in the flesh; a gift of wondrous proportions.

“You are such a beautiful sight,” Helena continued in the same awed tone, tears now gathering in her own eyes. For several moments, she just stared and explored the plains of the young woman’s features, until a raw sounding chuckle burst from the time-traveller. HG smiled, letting her hands fall to join her daughter’s. “I’m sorry, love. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just... There was a time when I thought...” she faltered, still reluctant to discuss the girl’s death with her.

“When you thought you would never see me grow up,” Christina finished for her. “I know, Mum,” she added gently.

Helena sucked in a sharp breath. “I told you?”

A mousey-haired head bobbed up and down. “Yeah. I think Mama nagged you to tell me when I started asking too many questions that you couldn’t answer without lying.” A wry smile tugged at her upper lip, reminding HG of her lover.

Squeezing the hands in hers, the inventor sighed. “I never wanted you to have to think about what happened,” she admitted.

“I had a right to know,” Christina told her mother firmly before her tone softened and she added, “But I understand why you waited.” She sighed too as her gaze appeared to drift, as if she were examining a memory. “I wasn’t best pleased with you for a long while. Well... it felt like a long while. I apologise in advance for the hurtful things I’ll say.” The Myka-ish smile was back but there was a sadness behind it too.

“I’m sure I deserved at least some of it,” Helena tried to placate the young woman, even as her daughter shook her head.

“You didn’t. You don’t.” Her voice grew strong and adamant as she faced her mother. “I know you’ve made some terrible choices,” she prefaced, wincing internally at the shadow that passed over dark eyes. “But you’ve only ever shown me love. You and Mama have given me so much. You only deserve the best from me.”

The inventor swallowed the lump that rose up in her throat at the pride in her daughter’s voice. The heartfelt statement lifted a weight that lay across her shoulders; despite past events, she would apparently be a good mother in Christina’s eyes. There was still the question of her sending the girl on this convoluted journey though.

Shifting slightly in her seat to give them both a little more space, Christina straightened, looking more like the confident agent Helena had met in Hollywood. “The Warehouse is orchestrating all of this. I was merely chosen to complete its plan. To keep in motion that which it created.” Her expression became sheepish as she caught sight of the frustration on her mother's face. “I'm not here to prevent a tragedy, only to ensure that our lives continue on the path that's already been written.”

“You're not trying to change the past?” HG concluded doubtfully.

“I’m not entirely sure that the past _can_ be changed. At least, not easily by us mere mortals.” Christina paused to give the elder woman time to absorb this information then added, “I'm guessing that you're more interested in knowing what's happening to Mama though, right?”

“You were with her in 1890, before you were born?” Helena asked to check that she was putting everything together correctly, though she felt that the answer was obvious even before Christina nodded in response. “What can you tell me?”

The young woman spoke quickly, needing to get the highlights out before her mother could begin to react. “We discovered where we were quite quickly and then Mama had the idea that we’d travelled back in time. She bagged the artefact and discovered that it was dormant. We walked to the Thames and we were attacked by agents. They shot her with a Tesla-type gun.”

Launched from her seat in agitation, tense hands swept shakily through raven hair. “Warehouse agents!?” HG’s mind ticked over this nugget of information, anger rising from the depths. “Was I…?” She turned sharply back to her daughter, her fiery eyes demanding answers to questions that she struggle to complete. “Was she…?”

“No,” the young woman interrupted. “You were away at that time. Up north I think. Great-grandpa Rupert came to the rescue. He took us home and a doctor looked after Mama. There didn't seem to be any lasting effects other than a headache.”

Helena paced, her hands continuing to worry through her hair, finger nails scratching at her scalp in an effort to find a sense of equilibrium. Minutes passed before she could bring herself to sit down once more and consider anything other than one of her old colleagues attacking her fiancée.

“How is it that your great grandfather happened to be there? This is all beginning to sound a little too coincidental.” Her gaze drifted across the ceiling. “The time, the place, the people; this is all the Warehouse’s doing?”

Christina shrugged slightly. “I’ve given up trying to figure out which parts of my life are fate, chance or deliberate interference. It felt safe at your grandparent’s house. I remember great-grandma telling me that you were a precocious child and that I was much better behaved.” The twinkle in her eye and the quirk to her lip were back as she revelled in her mother’s expression of surprise. “It was obvious that she liked the fact that you tried her patience though.”

“You met my Norie? Myka met her?” Helena’s expression softened as she thought fondly of her childhood idol.

“We stayed with them. Mama thought we would have to be careful to keep everything from them, but she overheard them talking about the Warehouse.” She paused again at the confusion on her mother’s face. “Did you know that they were Regents?”

Dark eyes narrowed. “No. Though it does shed light on many things now that I think about it.” She huffed and ran her hands through her hair again, annoyed by the secrets kept from her, but seconds later a small smile tugged at her expression. “She was a sly thing. Precocious was I? I can't imagine from where I might have inherited that trait,” she added sarcastically. Turning back to her daughter, she considered the idea of her partner and daughter meeting the Wells matriarch. A feeling of melancholy passed through her as she imagined for a moment being able to introduce them formally. “I wish you had known her longer. You were only three when their ship went down; you wouldn't recall her doting on you.”

“Oh, I experienced my fair share of doting,” Christina chuckled. “So much so that Mama had to have words about the amount of sugar I was allowed.”

“That sounds like Myka.” Helena smiled fondly, sighing at the renewed sliver of relief that settled over her. “Is there nothing else you can tell me?”

Christina hesitated, not wanting to over share. “Not much. We were there a few weeks I think, though the same amount of time didn't pass here,” she added at the sudden expression of horror on her mother’s face. “It was decided that I shouldn't be told all the details from the adults’ point of view so that I wouldn't accidentally affect how events will play out.”

“I don't recall you or Myka,” Helena thought aloud. “I was never out on a curiosity hunt for more than a week.”

The time traveller shifted in her seat as she prepared to drop another bomb shell. “You let them alter your memories.”

A weight dropped into HG’s stomach like lead. _I knew Myka? I knew her and willingly forgot?_ “That can't be true. Surely I would never agree to give up any memory of her.”

“Mum, not knowing if you might accidentally change events, you both had to make sacrifices to ensure that you could meet in the future. Remembering her could have potentially altered the timeline. You might have made an entirely different set of choices and never ended up in bronze. Neither of you were willing to take that risk.” The young woman’s sympathetic expression came from the heart, knowing herself how difficult a choice it was.

Only partially satisfied by this answer, the inventor frowned. “Am I not permitted to know my own mind now that the events are past? Is there no record of the memories we made?” the ever so slightly guilty look on her daughter’s face confirmed Helena’s suspicion.

“They're stored in the Regents’ vault.” She reached out to grasp her mother's hand. “They’ll allow you to access them when Mama returns.”

 

 

Up in the office, the remainder of the team sat on tender hooks to hear from below. Claudia had slipped in soon after Jason, explaining that the Wells duo needed time to get over their ‘feels’ before they could be bombarded with numerous questions. Artie though was getting impatient.

“I would like to point out that we have no way of knowing how much of that girl’s story is true,” the director grumbled from his desk. “How would it be if she was an imposter giving us some cock and bull story, wasting our time by appealing to certain people’s emotions, in order to distract us from finding Myka and the real Christina?”

Pete stopped abruptly, his spinning chair screeching to a halt. “Is that concern for our beloved Machiavellian friend I hear?” He asked with surprise.

Artie opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by the red head’s snort. “I'm sorry,” she held both hands up apologetically but the effect was ruined slightly by her smirk. “Machiavellian? Pete,” she tutted, shaking her head. “Have you been reading?”

“No!” He reacted automatically and then reconsidered his response. “Well yeah, but not like _that_ , just stuff y’know… About kids and school. I’ve been watching more ‘Myka movies’. You know, the ones that try to teach you stuff.”

“Fascinating,” the director’s sarcastic tone cut in again just as Claudia opened her mouth. “But none of this addresses my very valid concerns.”

“Artichoke, unless you know of some artefact with the power to reveal identities without consequence for the person involved, then there really isn't much else we can do.” The young computer whizz became serious as she faced their grumpy boss, showing him that, despite her candour, she understood his concerns and took them seriously. “HG isn't going to let anyone within a mile of that kid with a _curiosity_ and really, we’re likely to learn more from an imposter if she thinks we've all fallen for the ruse. Bluff and double bluff,” she concluded.

“Hmff,” Artie nodded, impressed with his protégé’s reasoning despite himself. “And Agent Wells? Should she be warned?”

“I think HG is convinced already that she’s who she says she is and I'm leaning the same way. It’s in the walls. I wish you could feel how much the Warehouse is on her side. I think I should have a heart to heart with HG about the potential two-face-i-ness though.” Claudia reassured him.

From the corner of the room, almost removed from the scene in front of her, sat the more sullen of the two new agents. She was bored and annoyed; when anything involved the uppity Brit, everyone jumped. Even her fellow raw recruit almost messed himself when introductions were made, but personally, she didn't see the big deal. For a woman of a century and a half old she was well preserved, and she knew how to knock shit together, but so what? From what she’d gleaned during Artie’s frequent rants, the woman was a recovering megalomaniac who, not long ago, had come very close to wiping out most of mankind. Why did so many of her new colleagues part-worship the woman, and why were they all scrambling to accommodate her kid instead of slapping a pair of cuffs on her?

This job had seemed so exciting at first. She’d been a simple shelf-stacker before all of this. She kept in shape riding her bike to work and playing softball at the weekends, but she was no Bruce Lee. When Mrs. Fredrick had showed up at her apartment and told her to pack a bag, she’d assumed there would be some sort of adventure awaiting her.

Apparently, unbeknownst to her, she had an ability to sense the proximity and intensity of an artefact that was outside the walls of the Warehouse. All the times she’d leapt out of harm’s way when something unexplainable happened was not just lady luck on her side, like Pete, she felt dangers before they appeared.

She wasn’t into books or retaining information though. She worked from the gut. Her skills had no particular use when they were just sitting around waiting for shit to happen.

“So,” she tumbled out of her chair and stretched. “While you're all playing time-detective- who-done-it, what do you want me and twinkle toes over there to do?”

The director looked at her like he'd forgotten she existed. She rolled her eyes, hurrying his thought process. “If you're clear with protocol, we could use the two of you in the field. There are always new artefacts popping up and cold cases to review, and if all else fails, there's inventory.” He stared over his glasses at her, habitually daring her to protest.

“Miles and miles of inventory,” Pete added teasingly. “Oh the joys you’ll have. Just remember not to juggle with the pretty trinkets; they don't like it.”

“Oddly enough, I think I had that figured out already,” Agent Coombs retorted readily, rolling her eyes. Was he really that stupid? Surely no government agency would hire him if he was and she’d heard that he was ex military and ex secret service. She concluded that it had to be an act, but to what effect she wasn't sure. “I like sittin’ around doin’ nothin’ as much as the next guy, but it's not the same without a joystick in your hand y’know? Don't answer that,” she immediately pointed at Pete.

Turning to the others in the room, the director considered his options. Normally, with an agent missing, everyone would be all hands on deck, assisting in whatever manner they were able to. Agent Coombs’ indifference was concerning; he’d never faced a subordinate like her before and began to curse the instincts that had led Mrs Fredrick to the stocky woman in the first place.

“Pete, I think it’s about time our new agents had a review of artefact safety features, and it never hurts for you to remind yourself either,” Artie finally decided. As a falsely enthusiastic Pete led Meghan and a dejected looking Jason away, the man in charge looked to the remaining member of his team. “I don’t know what Mrs. Fredrick was thinking with that one,” he tilted his head to the chair agent Coombs had recently vacated and rolled his eyes.

“I bet you thought the same thing when Myka and Pete turned up on your doorstep,” Claudia commented knowingly.

“He had good instincts and she was very professional,” he retorted noncommittally. “I wish I had her level head around right now. I’ll tell you one thing though; I'm not sitting around doing nothing while we wait to see if they find their own way back. I'm going to find something to explain this whole fiasco. Even if I have to camp out on the Regents’ front door.”

“That works out rather nicely Arthur since we are of the same opinion.” HG’s voice preceded her through the door that had just moments ago seen three hurried departures. “We must gird for any event, and knowledge after all, is power.”

Christina followed her mother closely, aware of the sudden scrutiny she was under. “I don't think the Regents know much more than we do at this stage, but they have access to Chaturanga’s restricted journals and my great-grandparents’ files from Warehouse 12.”

“Your great-grandparents?” Claudia gawped. “HG’s grandparents or…” She hesitated, suddenly unsure whether she should be raising questions of the young woman's paternity.

Sending an understanding smile the red head’s way, Christina explained, ignoring the instant curiosity that drew her mother’s intense attention. “I’m not offended by the subject of my… ‘Father’,” she hesitated, shooting an apologetic glance at her mother. “We became better acquainted during those few weeks in London. It's not something that I can talk about though. I was speaking of Eleanor and Rupert Wells.”

Helena’s arms were folded across her chest, her brows pulled together in a frown as she considered how Myka would feel meeting their daughter’s other biological half. A distant mischievous thought regretted not being able to enjoy the jealousy that was sure to ignite the American’s possessive side, but mostly, she just wanted to be there to assure her fiancée that no one else had a claim on their little girl. Yet another inner voice was curious to know who he was; to this day, she still couldn't recall his name or face, only now did it occur to her that this fact might have been planted into her subconscious by design.

“My grandparents were apparently more secretive and devious than I realised. I was always poking my nose into their business, it’s a wonder that they managed to keep a secret like this from me. I have to wonder if either of them had a hand in my conscription.” She leant, appearing more casual than she felt, against the frame of the door. “Grandfather was always returning from business with something imperative to discuss with Norie. They often disappeared to ‘consult’ with one another.” She shrugged. “I always just assumed that they were popping off to do the bear.”

“Mum!” Christina cried, horrified at the thought, automatically assuming the worst from the foreign phrase.

Claudia too blanched at the implication that came to mind. “I thought English Victorians were supposed to be kinda skittish about all that stuff.”

Laughing, Helena appeared revived by the idea that she could scandalise her daughter and the red head with the sort of slang that had been common in her youth. “Really, I thought I was being somewhat reserved; I didn't think anyone here would be offended by the idea of a little cuddling.”

“That's what that meant? Cuddling?” The techie relaxed. “You really should just say what you mean. I mean, I could have permanent neural scarring with the things that come to mind with phrases like that.”

“Having enough mental scarring after growing up with two… _active_ … parents, I second that statement.” Christina returned to her couch and flopped down, her nap not having recharged her depleted energies yet. She ignored the somewhat proud expression that appeared on her mother’s features. “So,” she began with a more serious tone. “I was told I would just have to sit tight and wait this out, but I'd rather be doing something… Anything; to help. Are we thinking Regents?”

Remaining quiet and observant up until now, Artie offered his input, “I'm waiting for a reply from them. I think we may have a visit before the week is over.”

With little else to do, Helena took a seat beside her daughter, smiling as the young woman immediately pulled her feet onto the couch and lay her head on her mother’s lap. Christina had come from the future, which meant that she had to have returned from the past. It was all a long loop of past, present and future, and the idea of something happening to make the whole thing collapse was terrifying, but she had to believe that, as long as this young woman was still there, with memories of her complete family in the future, everything would eventually turn out well.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Myka felt her stomach twist uncomfortably and waved with a fake energy to the bright-eyed girl at the window as the driver bade the horse to start walking. Her only comfort in leaving her daughter was the reassuring nod Eleanor tipped her from behind the wavy-haired head.

There hadn’t been much they could do to investigate their displaced situation from the house. Though the Wells’ library was impressive, there was a distinct lack of time travel books _for Dummies_. As her conversations with Mrs. Wells began to meander round in circles, Myka finally but politely insisted on being shown to the Warehouse.

Normally, Rupert and Eleanor avoided direct contact with the place, which didn’t surprised the agent; Pete’s mother rarely set foot in Warehouse 13 so why would regents from the past be any different? What did surprise Myka was Eleanor’s confession of regret for keeping her involvement from Helena.

_“...She is such an exemplary agent, my Little One... Of course I fear for her safety whenever she’s off on another of her missions. You understand how dangerous it is. Imagine how you would feel, seeing your Christina preparing to take on the world armed with little more than her wits... I just wish we could have a chance to work together. I would like for once not to have to lie to her.”_

As the older woman had already guessed that Myka knew Helena was an agent, she hadn’t concerned herself overmuch when talking about her granddaughter. With every utterance, the American heard pride in her host’s voice and smiled to herself, silently agreeing with each sentiment.

The carriage trundled along the cobbled streets of London and Myka leant her head back to close her eyes. Under different circumstances, she might have her head pressed close to the open window, all the better to absorb the sights, sounds and smells of the historical setting. Or perhaps not so much the smells, she thought after a particularly malodorous scent reached her nose and caused her to gag. The experience was once in a lifetime and she wished she could feel up to making the most of it but it just wasn’t the same without Helena.

She let her imagination wrap around her memories, picturing her lover by her side; the excitement in that voice, those dark eyes; the squeezing of a hand in hers; whispers at her ear. _I do miss the horse and buggy days. There’s nothing quite so electrifying as the feel of a lover’s hand fetching you amidst a crowd of oblivious passers-by._

Myka remembered the suggestive look in her fiancée’s eyes when she’d muttered that remark. Though her immediate reaction of jealousy had drawn a chuckle from HG, their late night discussion had been worth the temporary discomfort. The mental images Helena had given her would be forever etched into her mind.

Even through the crowded streets, the ride barely lasted twenty minutes. When the carriage came to a halt, Myka accepted Mr. Wells’ hand and stepped down onto the cobbled pavement below.

Like the Badlands of South Dakota, the area in which they’d arrived was nothing much to look at from the outside. Two imposing factories, each belching clouds of smoke into the pea-soup atmosphere, stood adjacent; the hulking forms allowing only a narrow path between them. It was this dank, musty smelling alley that her guide led her into. At the apex, a solid oak door loomed and, as expected, Myka was asked to stand aside while the regent gained access.

He walked them along a narrow corridor where the American noted a series of small holes at varying heights and was immediately reminded of Warehouse 2 and its den of traps. There was no retinal scanner beside the inner door but apparently some sort of detection device was in operation as Rupert leant over a section of brick wall, fiddled around for a moment and then straightened up as a heavy metal door swung open.

As they entered, Myka let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. She wasn’t sure if it was the smell of dust and the soft creak of the walls or something that swelled from inside; a feeling of comfort, but a good chunk of building anxiety fell from her shoulders the moment the door closed behind them.

“Welcome to Warehouse 12, Mrs. Bering,” Mr. Wells smiled at her as he gestured to another door, indicating that she should go ahead of him.

Feeling oddly speechless, Myka took the lead and set off into the bowels of the mystical building.

She couldn’t help but marvel at the differences and similarities. It was nothing like Warehouse 2 had been, with its sinister feeling of danger and death around every corner. This was more familiar in a way; items she passed reminded her of hours spent with Pete doing inventory or places on shelves that she’d filled herself at some point in the future... her past. Her gaze lighted on a shelf that would one day be home to a dodge ball and a spontaneous chuckle rose from her throat.

The regent’s curious eyes honed in on her and she smiled, pointing to the shelf. “During our first year in the Warehouse, my partner and I were chased by a ball that will be here. It’s a little odd to know that it hasn't happened yet.”

Rupert considered the area in question, paused to look over the shelves and then gave a very small shrug. “I have to confess, I’ve never given much thought to the number of lives that have been affected by the artefacts we keep in our care.” He moved ahead of the contemplative agent toward a side door. “Chaturanga is in here. I believe he has your artefact with him.”

Myka stepped into the room and found that it was exactly as she’d imagined it from her fiancée’s descriptions. A red-leather, high-backed chair stood at an angle to the desk, it's inhabitant waiting casually, smiling with an air of genuine pleasure as he rose to greet her. “Agent Bering.” He grasped Myka’s hand between two of his. “Such a delight to be making your acquaintance. Please, sit.” He gestured towards a similarly comfy looking chair but remained standing as she lowered herself into the softened leather. “Tea?”

Myka breathed a small sound of amusement as she responded. “Yes, please.”

“I will return with the carriage around noon,” Mr. Wells informed the room before he tipped his hat and ducked out, leaving the time traveller and his colleague alone.

“He’s not staying?” Myka asked, confused.

Chaturanga’s pleasant expression didn't change. “I thought it best to discuss your situation in private, delicate as the subject is.” He pottered around with his tea set leaving the agent to her thoughts until he placed a steaming cup in front of her. “I understand that you might be acquainted with our Agent Wells?”

Green eyes froze on the cup. What should she tell him? How much of her history, her entanglement with Helena could she safely share? How much had Mrs. Wells already shared with him? A minute of silence passed as she sipped and thought, the director all the while waiting patiently for a response.

A clock ticked somewhere close by, the rhythmic sound, time; a reminder of what they were in conflict with.

Myka slowly placed her cup back on the desk before folding her hands in her lap and meeting Chaturanga’s kind gaze. “She always speaks very highly of you,” the agent began, confirming his inquiry in a roundabout way. “I assume you must feel the same about her if you’ve chosen to be her mentor?”

“She is an extraordinary woman; very driven and delightfully fresh. I have great hope that she might one day surpass my teaching,” he shared without reserve. “Might I assume that you also think highly of her?”

Myka met his gaze again, trying to communicate with her eyes what she was reluctant to put into words. Rather than answer the question, she swallowed hard, deciding to test the waters of a more difficult subject. “If you knew, that at some point in the not too distant future, she would lose herself to grief, would you… Could you… Allow events to play out as they were supposed to?” Her throat constricted at the mere thought of standing by, knowing what would happen to the two most precious people in her life. “Could you stand by and let something terrible happen, knowing that it would very nearly destroy her?”

Finally, the director sat back in his chair, observing her over his once again steepled fingers, which opened and closed sporadically as he spoke. “Who are we to decide which tragedies are worth preventing? Today’s tragedy might lead to tomorrow’s revolution or Renaissance. I see your dilemma though. It is not easy to watch someone you care for hurt when you think you might have been able to prevent it.” He watched her nod thoughtfully, his demeanour becoming ever so slightly solemn. “If you are asking whether I will use what you know to change the future, as much as it might pain me, I will not. It is not my place to interfere with another person’s destiny.” He smiled then. “Like your being here.”

Myka frowned. She decided that she trusted his integrity enough to believe that he wouldn’t try to change anything, but that last comment intrigued her, echoing her own thoughts. What did he know? “You think that I was supposed to end up here? Like part of a causal loop?”

His smile grew as he watched her thinking it through. Eleanor had been right when she marked the mysterious stranger as Helena’s equal. Her behaviour and temperament might be very different, but her grasp of logic and puzzles was comparable.

“I think it entirely likely that your being here will create events that culminate in your being here.” He chuckled lightly at the spark of understanding that lit up her features. “I find it too much of a coincidence that you are surrounded by Agent Wells’ life from a world where I imagine she is surrounded by yours. If this is the case, then it follows that her emersion in the future will create events that culminate in your being here and therefore, ensure that she will end up there; in the future.”

Myka sank into her seat as the director’s hypothesis sank into her brain. Could that be it? Were their lives so intertwined that they created each other’s destiny? “Like the chicken and the egg scenario,” she thought aloud. “Which begs the question, what sets all of this in motion?”

Chaturanga nodded along with her train of thought. “I think that is where our investigation must begin. I have studied your curiosity,” he reached for a decorative wooden box on his desk and opened it to reveal the broken lever. He turned the box to face the agent but left it in situ. “Despite appearances, it is in fact still active, Agent Bering,” he informed her to her surprise.

“How can it be if it didn’t react to the neutralising bag? Even weak artefacts produce some kind of reaction,” she reasoned, searching his face for understanding. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. It’s in the rhythm of the Warehouse. Not only is it active, it is continuously communicating, as if it is searching for a response.” He smiled kindly at her ever increasing incredulity. “This is a powerful artefact my dear. It is my belief, from having observed its behaviour, that under the right circumstances it will create a conduit through time. Like the one that brought you here.”

“This is all speculation?” Myka queried, not entirely convinced but coming round to the idea.

“Some of it is speculation; theories based on careful observation, but the fact remains that it is powerful and unlike any curiosity I have seen before.” He took no offense at the disbelief facing him, his expression of kind, almost amused patience remaining. “I encourage you to keep an open mind and reach your own conclusions; you may have knowledge that defenestrates my hypothesis. With nothing else to go on however, I suggest we see what we can make of the facts.”

With a long, drawn-out breath, Myka’s gaze scanned their surroundings, her brain taking great pains to assemble the theory.

What were the odds that she would meet one of her childhood heroes; a person who should have died long before she was born? That against her better judgement, she would fall into Helena’s arms and later, in love?

How likely was it that Christina would be precisely where she needed to be for Myka to find her? Or that Helena’s heirlooms would end up in her possession? How had she and Christina managed to arrive just where Helena’s grandfather could easily locate them?

Too many coincidences? Unknowingly, she echoed her fiancée’s gut feeling. Perhaps the director was right.

“Do you have any idea when this conduit will reopen?” she eventually asked, coming to the important point.

This time Chaturanga’s expression did fall slightly. “I’m afraid not, though if you were to push me to guess, I imagine it will become usable again when your work here is done.”

“When I’ve set events in motion?” He nodded, his smile returning though a little sheepishly. “Events that I have no clue about,” she reminded him tersely.

A pocket of fear bubbled up inside her once more. What if they were only partially right? What if, like the director had suggested, their returning home relied on her doing something in this time but would trap them there if she didn’t see to it before the ‘event window’ had passed? Or, what if this pre-determined event wasn’t scheduled to happen for months? Years even? What then?

Seeing the growing distress on the agent’s face, Chaturanga stood from his seat and rounded the desk to perch lightly against its other side, his hand coming to rest on Myka’s shoulder. “Do not distress yourself, my dear. We play by the rules and keep about ourselves a stout heart. I do not believe that the Warehouse would have seen fit to bring you to this place, to this moment in time, only to strand you here. You may have found that you are at the mercy of its whimsy, but it does not follow that you should surrender to the game.” He watched her composure slowly return and a spark of knowledge pass over those green eyes.

“Change the rules,” she whispered.

Pride swelling his entire demeanour, the director clapped his hands together and walked with animated gait back to his chair. “Precisely!”

* * * * *

The morning spent with Chaturanga had given Myka much to consider. They had briefly discussed Helena and agreed by mutual consent that she would be better off not knowing too much about the American or their possible future together. Myka opened up enough that the enigmatic gent knew when she’d come from and that she was close to HG, but nothing about how Agent Wells had found herself so far removed from her own time.

After returning with the carriage, she had spent the remaining daylight hours with her daughter, playing, exploring and reading. The girl had risen to their challenging circumstances admirably and Myka knew that she deserved a few uninterrupted hours with the one other person who understood her woes. That it also served to bring them ever closer was a pleasant bonus.

Finally exhausted, the pair bid the rest of the household goodnight and saw themselves to bed. Now, a few hours later, the agent was up again.

Passing vague shadows and oddly shaped obstacles, Myka crept through the Wells’ sleepy house to the ‘water closet’. More frequently now, she found that she was woken in the night by her bladder. The first night in their new temporary residence, she had tried desperately to ignore the sensation, reluctant to move from her warm spot or disturb the girl who slept beside her. It had been no use though, the urge had been too great to resist.

That night, while creeping through the dark with only a candle to light the way, she had cursed the propensity for Victorian décor to include so many breakable antiques displayed on pedestals. By the time she had managed to find her way through the house, she was fit to bursting. Since then, though the layout had stuck fast in her mind, she had risen the moment she woke.

Almost four days after appearing in London, unbeknownst to her, it was more than the call of nature that woke her. After checking that Christina was still fast asleep, Myka had pulled on a pair of socks and a dressing-gown before slipping from the room and treading her route through the yawning spaces of the house. The lower floor was frigid underfoot where rugs ended and the season’s chill clung to the wooden oak boards beneath. Hairs on the back of her neck tingled at some unknown source but it wasn't until her return journey that her ears caught the slow, rhythmic click of shoes coming from beyond the dining room.

On wool-softened soles, she painstakingly heel-toed closer to the door. Waiting, ears pricked, she held her breath. There was a pause, distant mumbling and then nothing. Was it one of the servants? Myka couldn't think of a reason for any of them to be wandering around; the rest of the household was perfectly easy using the chamber pots beneath their beds, and even Christina rarely hesitated when it was the middle of the night. Mr. Wells occasionally returned late, but she had seen him head off to bed at the same time as Eleanor and besides, these footsteps were considerably lighter.

Chancing the pitch of night, hoping that the light of the mostly full moon would offer some guidance, she snuffed her candle and placed it to one side. Reaching for a handle, the door opened soundlessly, the hinges having been well cared for. Ducking swiftly inside, she edged around the table and advanced towards the kitchen door. Just as she reached for the handle, the light tap-tap of feet returned, the now rapid sound approaching too quickly for Myka to flee. On instinct, the agent stepped behind the door, vanishing from slight before the intruder entered.

It was too dark to make out a face but, in the dim illumination, Myka noticed the casual confidence in the figure’s stance. She could just make out pants and the plane of what she assumed was a flat cap before the stranger stiffened and suddenly turned on her.

With very little time to react, Myka avoided the hands that intended to grab her and blocked the sweep of a foot. A secondary thought passed through her mind as she swiftly changed from defensive to offensive, _what is it with people attacking me without provocation?_ Feet dancing to the rhythm of numerous fencing lessons, she pushed her assailant back, taking no notice of the amount of noise they might be making.

She felt the pressure of an open palm land on her shoulder and was forced back a step, her hip bumping into the table and knocking a silver candlestick from its surface, which tumbled to the floor with a jarring scroop.

The reverberating sound gave the two pause and each stood, panting, staring hard into the dark, waiting for their opponent to make another move. Just as Myka began to wish that she hadn’t extinguished her best source of light, more footsteps echoed from the base of the stairs and a flicker of a candlelight appeared from the partially open doorway.

Half expecting the intruder to make a run for it at the realisation that the household was beginning to wake, the American was surprised when the figure appeared to relax. As a golden light fell through the door however, the intruder’s features were lit up in relief, drawing a surprised gasp from the time-traveller.

From the hallway, the lady of the house appeared, her own housecoat billowing behind her, casting frolicking figures on the walls, her entrance drawing attention away from Myka’s back-pedalling for a moment.

“What the devil is going on down here?” Her harsh whisper cut through the tension. She took stock of her guest and then turned to face her unexpected visitor. “Who…?” She stopped and her whole demeanour became exasperated. “I might have known,” she muttered in resignation.

Myka’s stomach flip-flopped. She hadn't been able to take her eyes off the raven-haired intruder and when that dark gaze met her own and that mouth turned up into a perfect picture of mischief, she felt a jolt low down, a phantom of the sensation she’d felt in those early days at Leena’s.

“Helena Wells, what on Earth possessed you to break into my home in the middle of the night!?” Eleanor had pulled the door to and stood over HG with her free hand on her hip.

The inventor slid her hands into her trouser pockets, hanging her head slightly in an attempt to appear contrite, while looking every bit like the child who had been caught doing something they knew they shouldn't and knowing that the punishment wasn't going to be enough to dissuade them from a repeat of the offence.

Several long seconds ticked passed, and then, seeing that her act was having no effect on her grandmother, Helena flicked her head and leant on her back foot, defiance clear in her altered stance. “Mother asked me to attend you at my earliest convenience.”

“Naturally, that was at three am,” Mrs. Wells countered with a sarcastic response. “And I’m certain had nothing to do with the rumours that your grandfather graciously offered alms to two engaging strangers.”

“There are rumours?” HG asked, her feigned ignorance unconvincing. Her gaze wandered nonchalantly as she reached up to remove her cap. Silken locks cascaded from a released clip and another flick of her head tossed them over her shoulder, drawing the attention of thirsty green eyes. “You know I avoid such idle prattle. As we are all awake and congregated though, introductions may be made as well as not.”

Myka suddenly became very aware of Helena’s eyes on her and realised that, not only was her mouth hanging slightly open but that her loosely tied robe had come completely undone during the scuffle, providing the unapologetic inventor an uninhibited view of her in her nightgown. Unbidden, memories of her fiancée’s very skilled hands came to mind. A blush rose to her cheeks and even through the inadequate candlelight, she saw the familiar knowing smirk directed her way.

The Wells matriarch was disinclined to let her granddaughter’s whim pass unchallenged. Internally, she rolled her eyes. As much as she admired and nurtured Helena’s outgoing nature, she was also aware that there were certain aspects of her behaviour that, for her own sake, benefitted from taming. “Introductions will be made at the proper hour, after you have announced yourself at the door.”

Myka allowed Eleanor to usher her from the room. She sighed with relief when she drew a deep breath and the fog in her brain dissipated. Both hands slid roughly through her hair. “Oh my God,” she whispered to the empty hall, licking her suddenly dry lips and swallowing passed the tight tingling in her throat. Though she had been working tirelessly for the past three days, or as much as her host had allowed her to, she abruptly felt a more immediate need to get home.

As she padded towards the stairs, a soft shuffling noise came from above and she looked up to meet eyes identical to those she had just left. Quickening her pace, Myka ascended to the landing and closed an arm around Christina’s shoulders. From below, they both recognised Helena’s carrying tone and, catching her gaze, the American saw conflict mirrored back at her.

“Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s go to our room. It’ll be safe enough to talk in there.”

Christina took her Mama’s hand and shuffled along with her. She allowed Myka to pull her back into bed and wrapped both arms around the adult’s torso.

“Mama, my tummy feels peculiar,” the girl bemoaned, her voice cracking with emotion.

 Myka took a moment to fight back her own brimming tears. “We’re in a difficult situation,” she began, trying to simplify but not belittle. “We both miss your mother, so having her suddenly here, we naturally want to be near her. That uncomfortable feeling is your body’s way of telling you that you're worried.”

“Will we ever see Mummy again?” The eight-year-old voiced her fear with the feeling of releasing a dark shadow from her mind.

Despite the assurance that her curly-haired mother was working hard to find them a way home, after two days of enjoying the sense of adventure a large house and gardens offered, Christina found a foreboding concern begin to weigh on her shoulders.

The novelty of teaching her Mama how to use the innovations of the late nineteenth century was beginning to wear off and distractions were becoming fewer and fewer. What if they were stuck here forever? What if the artefact no longer worked and there were no alternatives? All of these questions made her wonder how she and her mother had made it to the future in the first place. Was there hope of another way home? How did time travel work anyway?

“Yes we will, I'm certain,” the adult answered without hesitation. “The more I learn about our situation; the more I think about how everything connects, the more convinced I am that there is a way for us to get back to the twenty-first century.” She hugged Christina closer to her, trying to provide the same comfort that she had begun to find with her research. “There are too many coincidences for all of this to be a… well, a coincidence. It should have been impossible for you and me to meet, and yet here we are. We have to believe that there’s a reason we were sent back in time.”

Dark eyes stared thoughtfully into the middle distance. “So, do you think we have to help someone?”

Myka hesitated, giving the idea some thought. “It’s possible I suppose. Until it becomes clear though, I'll continue to work with your great grandmother on theories.”

“What about Mu… Helena?” Christina felt the strangeness of the name on her tongue. It wasn't going to be at all easy to remember to call her mother by her first name.

Smiling sadly, the agent repositioned herself so she was looking into her daughter’s eyes. “Do you still want to go along with our ‘play’? I understand if it’s getting too hard.”

“It’s ok. I like pretending.” The girl yawned but instead of settling down, she leant up on her elbow. “Mama, I've just thought of something.” Her brows pulled together as she puzzled through her sudden spark of inspiration. “Wouldn't Mummy remember us in the future if all of this has already happened?”

“Very astute,” Myka commented, impressed. “The same thought occurred to me. Either, nothing that we do here will affect anyone, which seems unlikely since there would be no point to our presence, or else your mother somehow lost her memories of this time.”

The now intrigued young girl queried uncertainly, “Will she get them back?”

“Perhaps.” Myka tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’d like to think so. That might mean she’s at home and is already laughing at seeing me in this nightdress.” She smiled as she rolled her eyes, her complaints about the period clothing a regular joke between them.

“So she could remember meeting me when we get home?”

Excitement was beginning to return to the girl’s voice, which allowed the agent to breathe a sigh of relief. “I don't see why not. At the very least, it will give us something to laugh about when we have to interact with her.”

“Ooh, I like the sound of that,” Christina's eyes lit up with mischief. “Yes, I could ask her questions that only Mummy would understand, then I can ask for the answers when we get home.”

“As long as those questions don't reveal anything concrete about the future to this time’s Helena,” Myka warned. Already she was calculating how much chaos her daughter could cause, but to see her face without a frown was a reward more than worth any apology she might have to make later. “Now, it’s very late and your great grandfather said he would take you on a personal tour of the gardens after breakfast. You need to sleep.” Her tone brooked no argument and almost instantly, Christina’s head was on the pillow, her body curling into her mother’s for extra warmth.

“Night, Mama,” she whispered into the dark.

“Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

As the child’s breathing began to even out and morph into the quiet snuffles of slumber, Myka remained awake. It had been one thing to know that Helena was around somewhere; an abstract idea of this younger, more carefree HG off doing all manner of things, but to see her in the flesh was another thing entirely.

Even anticipating, from her lover’s tales, that the young inventor would surreptitiously flirt with her, the American had been overwhelmed by the intensity of her body’s reaction and began to agonise over the kind of first impression she must have made. How would it look to a rebellious but well brought up Victorian when a young woman in a nightgown threw herself at intruders and then blushed under their gaze? She doubted it would take much to encourage Helena to make more of their tentative association, especially as she was apparently already a source of curiosity.

Through her confusion and concern, Myka was aware of a slight feeling of nervous anticipation. Was it wrong to feel attracted toward the younger version of your life partner? What would her Helena think? Would she be jealous? Upset? Amused? Indifferent? If what she had just discussed with Christina was true, that Helena might regain her memories in the future, how would she view Myka’s behaviour in retrospect? Speculation wouldn’t get her anywhere, she thought as she forced her eyes to close and willed sleep to come.


	6. Chapter 6

Regardless of what the future HG might eventually think about the odd situation, the young, carefree, aspiring writer was not yet conflicted in her thinking.

Down in the dining room, Helena listened dutifully to her grandmother’s renewed attempt to make her understand the importance of outward appearance. In the back of her mind though, she was much more interested in the curious creature who had just left.

Returning from Filey with another successful capture to her name, Agent Wells had spent some time with her mentor, winding down with tea and chess. The thrill of the chase, solving mysteries and besting men twice her size always got her blood pumping and made the task of returning to the daily trudge of life ever more difficult. Challenging Chaturanga was a sure fire way of bringing her back down to Earth and today he’d seemed more challenging than ever.

After an extended hunt like this one, agents were required to spend two days recuperating before returning to the Warehouse for their next assignment. This was to prevent burnout and injury, and to ensure that they were all seen going about their daily lives by their families and peers.

Helena usually used the time to tinker in her brother’s basement, flesh out new plot lines for stories and to generally avoid her mother. When she was forced to attend any of her family’s social functions, she used the time to hone her skills of persuasion and if she was lucky, she might find a body worthy of extra attention.

Being prone to boredom, she was easily intrigued by anyone with a little extra spark. Like the green fire in exuberant eyes and the rouged cheeks of a woman roused by close physical contact.

Given the choice, she would spend all of her spare time between hunts at her brother’s house. He might be insufferable at times but at least he left her to her own devices and didn't constantly demand that she pretend to be someone she wasn't. Her mother on the other hand…

The morning following her return from Filey, Charles had taken missive from a courier, asking him to put his sister in a carriage to Kent as soon as possible.

After fuming for a good hour at the audacity of the woman, to think that she could treat her daughter like chattel to be summoned when it suited her, Helena had relinquished to the inevitable and decided to get the unpleasant duty out of the way so she could return to what she really wanted to do.

So it was, full of attitude and defiance, she had waltzed into her parents’ house and entered her mother’s private drawing room without waiting for an invitation.

Genevieve Wells gazed sternly at her daughter over her reading glasses, shaking her head at the impertinence.

George Wells had been a very eligible match for her; his parents were well known and respected with influence in unexpected circles. As the youngest child, with a sister and four brothers before her, connections had appeared a better prospect than money. All had seemed to go well at first; Charles was a quiet baby and her husband’s investments were going from strength to strength, but Helena, it soon turned out, would be her cross to bear.

Though a beautiful, angelic looking child, adored by all, she had a boy’s curiosity and a fire in her that defied convention. She heeded no one save her beloved ‘Norie’ and much to Genevieve’s consternation, Eleanor took great delight in encouraging the girl’s queerness.

Rumours were always rife within London’s socialite population, and though most of them were not worth paying tribute to, on occasion, something would reach her ear that, even if untrue, would be enough to cast aspersions on her family. More often than not, those rumours would involve Helena. Her dalliance with the Duke of Kent’s daughter had been quickly brushed aside, but whispers of an evening spent in solitary company with a local journalist and notorious womaniser were not so easily hidden. Money in pockets had been the only option.

Now, mutterings about Rupert and Eleanor keeping an American fugitive in their house, having taken her and a girl from the grasp of the authorities, were threatening to ostracise her from polite society for the foreseeable future.

“Sit,” Genevieve nodded to the hard-backed chair on the far side of her writing table.

Helena made a point of dragging the chair closer to the table, sitting at an angle and letting her posture fall slightly into a barely perceptible slouch. Most other people would not notice the subtle revolt, but HG knew her mother well. “I do love the efficiency with which you conduct our interactions. Do you imagine that treating me like a disobedient pet will entice me toward obedience, or are you simply so busy these days that your time must be clocked by the syllable?”

Stern, brown eyes centred on the agent. “If I thought you could sit still for five minutes together, I might entertain a more verbose dialogue but I have long since given up on that score. As you seem to take pleasure in finding ways to use my words against me, I have chosen to get right to the point.” Barely looking at her daughter, the elder Wells reached for a short assemblage of letters and briefly shuffled them into a neat pile, taking the top one before folding it open. “I’ve received several reports of your antics about town, as per the course, but I shan't attempt to argue with you about your choice of entertainment, I shall simply reiterate my concerns with regards to discretion. It is not only your reputation on the line, Helena. If you have no regard for what I suffer, then at least consider your brother and father.”

 “Why does Charles not have to suffer this tedium every time he decides to entertain a little merriment?” The inventor huffed in response. She really didn't care what people said about her, but she was loathe to involve Charles or their father, no matter how much her brother annoyed her. “Must you send spies after me wherever I go?”

Genevieve spared Helena a sardonic glance. “As your mother, it falls to me to see that you conduct yourself with a modicum of dignity. Since you have little to no intention of controlling yourself, I'm afraid that spies are necessary.”

HG rolled her eyes. “Please tell me that you summoned me here for more than this. I could have derided such censure in a letter as easily.”

Mrs. Wells shifted marginally in her seat, restraining herself from starting a pointless shouting match, as had happened frequently in the past. It was difficult to remember sometimes that she really did love her daughter, despite her flaws; the differences between them cast such a large shadow of contention over their interactions. “Mrs. Fairchild arrived at my door this morning to tell me that my in-laws are harbouring a potentially dangerous fugitive,” she began in earnest. “As you are on better terms with your grandmother than I, it occurred to me that you might have an elevated chance of advising her to take the matter seriously. The idea makes people nervous. She should clear up any misunderstandings as soon as is possible.”

“A fugitive?” Helena asked, confused. “That’s preposterous. Who would be gullible enough to believe that?” Her immediate concern made her straighten, her body automatically turning to give her mother her full attention. This sudden shift didn't override her natural curiosity though. “Who exactly are they harbouring?”

“Mrs. Fairchild’s son happened to be walking past Westminster Bridge and witnessed an altercation between a young woman and two gentlemen. He reports watching your grandfather order her to be taken into his carriage and I've heard via Dr. Gravestock that she is still at their house.”

It was clear from the sour expression on Genevieve’s face that she disapproved and was irritated by being caught in the middle once more. Helena could not care less about her mother’s opinion. In her experience, Genevieve Wells would _find_ a reason to be annoyed with the world if one wasn't offered to her freely. Her grandparents’ reputations did matter to her though and, even as she knew that Rupert and Norie would dismiss her concerns, she felt that it was her duty to look into the matter further.

“I intended to visit soon anyway,” she waved casually as if the subject was barely worth noting. “I’m not surprised that no one thinks to question why Gregory Fairchild spends all of his free time down by the banks of the river, hidden in doorways and alleys. Yet another example of gender inequality in our society. After spending a companionable evening with a male friend, I am apparently an aspiring whore who must be followed at all hours of the day and night.” HG ignored her mother’s scandalised gasp and stood to take her leave. “And Gregory is a concerned citizen, a hero, while he puts Nebuchadnezzar out to grass behind the Bear and Staff.”

“Good gracious, Helena! What a thing to say.” Genevieve leant weakly back in her chair, one hand over her heart and the other gripping the desk.

HG ran her hands over the line of her dress and returned the look with an entirely serious one of her own. “Why the expression of shock, Mother? It’s surely not news to you? Oh, I forgot...” the inventor paused dramatically. “We don’t deal in truth, do we? Only rumour and suspicion of anything _different_.”

“Young lady, you may not respect the establishment into which you were born, but your livelihood; the roof over your head, the clothes on your back, the food in your belly; all of the things you depend on and take for granted, are provided for by that establishment.” Genevieve took a moment to compose herself before striding to the door and holding it aloft. “It is past time that you gave something back... Josephine!” she called out into the hallway, pausing only seconds before the young woman appeared in haste. “Miss. Wells is leaving. Fetch her coat and please see that she doesn’t dawdle on her way out. She has many important things to attend to, I’m sure,” she added in a sarcastic aside, ejecting her daughter from the room with a glare.

Helena fumed inside as she followed her childhood friend down the ornate staircase toward the vestibule. “The nerve of her,” she groused, not caring to lower her tone. “As if she or any of her meddling acquaintances know what it means to ‘give something back’ to society.”

“Miss. Helena,” Josephine hissed with resigned exasperation. “Please, lower your voice,” she urged gently.

HG sighed but for her friend’s sake, reigned in her anger. “Why, Josie? Holding my tongue only perpetuates the ridiculous notion that she and the rest of society is in the right. Doesn’t it infuriate you to think that your worth is only calculated by the company you keep and sort of man you marry?”

“I love my husband,” the young blonde answered softly.

Helena huffed this time but smiled. “Well, you had the good sense to fall in love with a man who, not only worships the ground you walk on, as he should, but has more than two brain cells to rub together.” As they approached the front door, she allowed her mother’s maid to help her into her coat. “That wasn’t my question though.”

Looking into intelligent brown eyes, Josephine recalled the many occasions that she had had to calm the youngest Wells after a disagreement with the mistress of the house. She had always admired Helena’s outgoing nature and listened with interest as she listed all of her views about the inequalities in modern society and declared the many ways that she would change them.

She had even grown to feel something of a tentative attraction to the girl as they matured through their adolescence together. Thankfully, that had all come to nothing and after one or two experimental kisses, they had become closer as friends, almost like sisters.

In all the time she’d known Helena though, she’d felt something akin to pity. Her friend was a square peg in a round hole and the world was constantly trying to smooth off her edges to make her fit. The wonderful person behind that penetrating gaze was forever destined to be knocked about, bullied by convention until she submitted.

“I believe that there are many things out of balance with the way things are, Miss. But I don’t believe that anything will improve to your liking by baiting your mother,” she added with a knowing glance.

Helena rolled her eyes. “Why must you be so sensible about these things?” she queried aloud, her voice much less fiery. “So what have you heard about this ‘fugitive’ of my grandfather’s? Should I be concerned?” The servants always knew more than they let on and she trusted Josephine’s intelligence more than her mother’s.

With swift, searching eyes, the maid checked that they were alone before turning a smile on her friend. “They say she’s as brave as she is beautiful. The footman saw her fighting those men like she’d been born to it and Beth says she spends all day now in the library, reading or else in consultation with your grandmother.” Her gentle smile curved into a knowing smirk at the interest that ignited behind Helena’s eyes. “She has a little girl too; eight-years-old and bright as a button.” Before Helena could ask for more detail, a noise of motion from above roused them. “Oh, Lord. You’d best go Miss.” Josephine pleaded, with a suddenly anxious expression.

HG squeezed her friend’s wrist reassuringly. “I am gone. Thank you, darling.”

She hurried down the front steps to the carriage that awaited her. One thing she could say for her mother’s love of decorum; it always gave her a comfortable ride back to town. The journey also gave her time to mull over this new, mysterious stranger.

Her mother had given her no indication of when the ‘incident’ by the river had occurred but it couldn’t have been more than a couple of days ago. There had been no talk of it when she left for her trip. If rumours were beginning to circulate now, it meant that the bored and rich ladies of the neighbourhood were desperate for a new story, a curiosity to sate their growing pangs, and a stranger at the Wells house set tongues wagging like nothing else.

_Tonight,_ she had thought to herself, a tremble of burgeoning anticipation fluttering along her spine.

She had known it would be late by the time the carriage dropped her off at her brother’s house and she’d managed to change into something suitable for a night time excursion, but once the idea of that strong, intelligent, beautiful somebody had taken seed in her mind, she found she could not wait.

The window had been easy enough to jimmy with her self-made tools and her outfit had leant her enough flexibility that the climb and the drop could be performed with agility. Her bravado had soon been tested though when she happened upon the unexpected figure in the dining room. Senses on high alert, the prickling down her spine had warned her of another’s presence and without thinking, she’d reached into the shadows to find the culprit. The sudden jostling in the dark had taken her by surprise but no more so than the powerful pull she felt when the dark had been lifted and her opponent’s identity finally revealed.

After the brief banter and the delicious sight of the woman looking flustered in little but her nightgown, she had watched with a sense of disappointment as the green-eyed someone left, her gaze lingering on the door long after it closed.

“Helena,” Eleanor’s firm voice dragged her granddaughter’s attention back into the room. She had expected this reaction but to see the young rebel so swiftly enamoured was both amusing and worrying. Her Little One wore her heart on her sleeve and that openness made her vulnerable. “Since you’re here now and I have no particular desire to send you into the night alone, you may as well extol your mother’s concerns on me,” she suggested, sarcasm colouring her tone. “What vexes her this time?”

Smirking, HG slid into a chair, crossed her legs at the ankle and ran a hand through her hair. “The usual,” she responded dismissively. “Her image. Talk about your mystery guest reached her and as no one has the facts, and they all have far too much time on their hands, they’re on top form, inventing the most scandalous story they can think of.” She fiddled absently with the cuff of her shirt. “Mother didn’t share all the details but enough for me to concede that she might have a point. The sooner you show off your new friend, the more expediently the rumours will dissipate and they can all return to their needlework, safe in the knowledge that they’ve done their duty to expunge the undesirables from ‘polite society’, even if there weren’t any to begin with.”

“You wouldn’t be referring to those rumours that you’ve neither heard of nor remember, would you?” Eleanor enquired knowingly.

Helena shrugged unrepentantly. She had never managed to lie convincingly to her grandmother yet they both knew that she wouldn’t stop trying. It was their little game. “So... Who is she?”

“A drifting soul who requires safe haven until she is able to access her transport home.” Eleanor responded cryptically. “Along with her daughter.”

“Husband?”

“Helena...” the regent’s tone warned.

“It’s just a question.” Dark eyes smiled from beneath lowered lids. “If she continues to reside here, you know the topic will arise.”

Levelling a serious gaze at her granddaughter, Norie sat straighter in her seat. “I am well aware.” She would have preferred to leave the conversation to another day, making the young woman wait, but she knew the agent well enough to suspect that Helena would take matters into her own hands if denied information she sorely wanted. Eleanor decided that she couldn’t do that to her guest. “She is engaged to be married but for obvious reasons we agreed to play along to the assumption that she is already wed.”

“So...”

“Mrs. Bering.”

“Bering...” Helena tasted the appellation. “That’s not a name I’m familiar with.”

“There are a few families in London with that name I believe. Myka is American however.”

_Myka._ The name sent an unexpected shiver along Helena’s spine. “And the lucky Bride-groom to be?” she continued, unaware of the edge of jealousy in her tone.

“Miss. Christina Bering sounds very English so I have to assume that her father is too.” She watched the changing expression on Helena’s face and felt compelled to add a little of her own observations. “I haven’t asked for the particulars of Christina’s birth. It is obvious that she loves her mother and vice-versa, but there is not a great deal of physical resemblance between them. In fact, Christina rather reminds me of you.” She tilted her head to one side, curiously awaiting her granddaughter’s response.

Helena pondered that a moment before a mischievous smirk tugged at her lip. “So the mother likes her lovers dark haired and handsome?”

“Fie! Is that all you think about?” Eleanor tutted, shaking her head while she tried not to laugh. The last thing Helena needed was encouragement. “I should be ashamed of you.”

Colour rising to her cheeks, HG laughed bitterly, “Ha! My mother experiences shame enough to deprive us all of the feeling.”

Hearing the disappointment in her granddaughter’s tone, the regent softened. “Have you not found amongst your conquests the one you want to settle with? What of your friend, Richard? I know _that_ one at least you keep from your mother’s many eyes.”

“We’re friends...” Helena began defensively before shrugging slightly and adding, “And occasionally more, when the mood strikes. I don’t wish to spend my life with him though.” She wasn’t sure where this sudden need to check on her had come from, but it was comforting to know that someone cared enough to ask how she felt about her life.

“Marietta?” Norie continued tentatively.

A chuckle replaced any tension in the raven-haired inventor’s voice. _The old woman’s trying hard,_ she thought. “Fun, but not enticing enough to want to spend the kind of energy it takes to keep a female lover indefinitely.” Only one of her acquaintances had ever tried a long term relationship with her lover and it had ended in tears for both of them. Now, they had their husbands and shared longing glances across crowded ballrooms. That sort of torture, Helena could do without. “Didn’t you ever want to just explore the fruits of life? Taste the bounty instead of marrying?”

“For a time, I did. I very nearly passed your grandfather over for that life too.” Eleanor smiled with self-depreciative amusement. “Like you, I disliked the idea of convention for the sake of convention. I didn’t want to adhere to that expectation.” Having never shared this part of her past with her granddaughter, she was cautious not to appear overly encouraging or dismissive. She admired Helena’s bravery when it came to her personal choices, no matter how much they worried her. “I never quite saw the appeal of the female form as you do, and your grandfather is the only bed-fellow I’ve taken but still, I fought vehemently against being forced into wedlock. Rupert turned out to be a God-send. After two refusals from me, he simply asked if we could be friends. My parents were furious, but were in India, so by the time they heard the news of my defiance, I had already made my own proposal. Your grandfather accepted in good grace.” She chuckled at the memory and made a mental note to thank him again for his patience.

Helena’s brow quirked curiously. “What happened to change your mind?”

“Quite simply, my dear; I fell in love.” Eleanor’s hazel gaze became distant as she recalled that period of her life. “Lust is fun, I understand its appeal. It’s quick, exciting and for the most part, uncomplicated. Love however... Love sweeps you off your feet. Love says, _you didn’t know you wanted this, but now you’ll never wish to be without it_.” She reached across the table and placed one of her hands atop of Helena’s fidgeting two. “I apologise, my darling. You know I support your pursuit of your own path in life. However, I do not want to see you pass up genuine happiness in favour of a life of defiance, simply because you do not wish to bow to convention.”

“Is marriage the only happiness?” That defiant edge had returned to her tone, but it played with a touch of despondency. She valued her grandmother’s opinion; the woman was her idol and the only person she ever really loathed to disappoint, so naturally, she hung on the older Wells’ every word.

Patting HG’s hands in reassurance, Norie smiled gently. “Not at all. Just don’t dismiss it simply because you think you should.”

Helena filed this thought away, knowing that she would want to consider it in more detail, but feeling far too emotional about the subject at the current time. Instead, she brought them back to the topic they’d started discussing. “I think Mother would have you rid yourself of your temporary guests.”

“We both know that will not happen,” Eleanor offered a conspiring smile.

“I should think not,” HG agreed with a chuckle. “I would help you introduce _Mrs._ Bering about town.”

“I’m sure you would,” the regent said knowingly, her eye-role punctuating her slight exasperation. “I would prefer to protect her from prying eyes. Unfortunately, I think her immersion into society is inevitable. It would seem that her stay with us will not be as brief as I had anticipated and I would not wish for her to become the victim of heavy scrutiny.”

Helena clapped her hands together, delighted at the conclusion they were advancing upon. “I anticipate the need for a gathering.”

“I fear you are right,” Norie admitted reluctantly. “But Helena, you will take pains to remember that she is my guest and must be treated with respect at all times. She is not a toy for you to play with.”

HG rolled her eyes in return but conceded the warning; she recognised that she had a tendency to get carried away at times and forgot that other people’s feelings were sometimes at risk of being trodden upon.

The pair continued to scheme and plan until Eleanor insisted that they head to their respective rooms to procure a couple of hours of sleep.

Helena drifted to her room with little intention of falling into bed. Norie had informed her which room Mrs. Bering and her daughter had taken residence in so she wouldn't inadvertently disturb the pair, but the knowledge tormented her for some reason and as she tiptoed by and crossed to the opposite room, she had to resist the urge to peek inside the stranger’s sanctuary.

Placing the candle she carried on her small writing bureau, she decided that she would sit and sketch for a while and reached for an oil lamp to light. There was a bitter chill in the room as the fires had been doused some time ago, but as with most things, Helena refused to be put off by this minor inconvenience. Placing the bulbous glass dome to one side, she fiddled with one of the dials, leavening the wick so she could trim the strip of blackened material at its tip.

Each morning, the servants would see to all the lamps, maintaining the glass, fuel and wick, but HG couldn't help herself and went about her ritual as usual. The motions were so habitual that she barely had to think, making sure the cut was even, bringing a lit splint from her candle’s flame closer and lowering the wick to the point of almost extinguishing it. With a clean cloth, she wiped the excess soot from the rim of the glass and brought it carefully back into position. Bit by bit, she turned one of the dials, raising the lit wick once more, careful not to be too hasty. Late autumn nights bought with them a bite to the air and she didn't want the sudden change in temperature to crack the glass. Finally finished, she placed the lamp close to where she planned to work, the light dispersal having an immediate effect on the dim room.

An idle sketch of several members of politics in consultation over the repression of the lower classes and women wanting to vote, soon became idle curves and curls, eventually morphing into a faint likeness of the woman from the dining room… Myka.

The face wasn’t particularly clear, just the hint of an intense gaze and a mouth open in shock. _Surprise perhaps, to see a woman dressed in men’s clothing?_ The impression of a womanly figure with long legs filled out a flowing sleep-shift, which was curiously without the tousled nightgown she’d seen. Helena traced the drawing several times with the nib of her pen, regardless of the fact that the ink had run out. _Who are you?_ She pondered, the question threatening to drive her mad.

Being rather open to the idea of finding attraction anywhere, she felt oddly blindsided by the sudden obsession she felt toward this stranger. As much as possible, she tried to avoid persons already attached, married or otherwise. There had been one or two close calls where she had almost crossed a line, but for the most part, her chosen lovers were open minded and free of responsibility to a beau or spouse. So why did she suddenly feel no concern whatsoever for this woman’s fiancé? In fact, if she was blatantly honest with herself, she thought she might feel more than a little smug at the idea of winning Myka over and claiming her for herself.

_Don't be absurd, HG. Even if that could happen, would you truly wish to be tied down?_

She shook her head vehemently at the thought, but a little voice in the back of her mind recalled her grandmother’s words. Was it defiance for the sake of defiance? Could there be such a thing as love at first sight? She supposed she would just have to wait to find out.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Despite her disturbed night’s sleep, Myka woke with the dawn, her stomach fluttering with the prompt realisation that Helena was in the same house. She debated the sense in getting up verses staying in bed. Though she was now wide-awake, the air was still frigid; the house not yet warmed by the servants’ efforts to light the morning fires.

Instead of braving the cold, the curly-haired time-traveller hugged her daughter closer and let her mind drift over the past few days.

Beside the turmoil of trying to figure out why they were there and how to get home, the experience had been fascinating in regards to what she’d learnt about the daily life of the upper-class Victorian and thus, about Helena’s early life. Even, to a certain extent, she’d seen what some of the less well-off classes did, day by day.

Among the first things she’d noticed were the smells. Paraffin, mostly in the evenings; smoke from various fires throughout the day; cleaning solutions drifting sporadically through the house, particularly when there was laundry being done, and a veritable smorgasbord of odours whenever she ventured outside. The visit to the Warehouse had brought her into contact with the worst of it, while travelling through the centre of London, but even here, a fair distance from the nearest factory, the stench of industry loitered in the atmosphere.

More pleasant smells sometimes reached her olfactory senses, mostly of the food variety. Other than fish, which appeared to have been cut from the menu since their arrival, in anticipation of each mealtime, there would waft through the house many delicious scents.

Another thing she had noticed were the different noises. Univille was not a noisy town by any means and night times were usually fairly quiet, but it was strange to go for so long without hearing a car, the radio, television, an occasional aeroplane, the ringing of a telephone – mobile or otherwise. Microwaves, the percolator, the gurgle or a radiator or hum of the A/C. Someone typing on a keyboard or flicking a light switch. So many everyday sounds that often passed without notice were suddenly conspicuous by their absence.

How had her lover endured that chaos after the comparative peace of the nineteenth century and the Bronze?

Instead, she heard the crackle of fire throughout the day and creaking of timber through the night; the occasional clip-clop of hooves, the trundle of carriage wheels upon cobbles and setts passing by the windows, and in busier areas, street-sellers shouting about their wares and the general hustle of many feet.

From the kitchen came the constant sound of toil; pots and pans, deliveries via the servants’ entrance, someone shouting orders; sizzling, spitting, bubbling... Myka struggled not to be overwhelmed at times.

Overall though, she found herself adapting well to the changes. There was something oddly relaxing about being free from the shackles of twenty-first century life. She was looking forward to a nice hot shower (preferably with her fiancée for company), central heating and her own clothes, but mostly, she missed her loved ones.

Chaturanga had ended their meeting by promising to continue his investigation and to inform her of any changes as soon as they arose, but suggested that she make some time to establish her ruse in this time, to avoid suspicion and ultimately protect the Warehouse. Reluctantly, she had agreed. It was too risky for her to be at the Warehouse now that Agent Wells was back in town, she really didn’t want to spend any time around Agent Kipling or allow him to gather any information about her, and most of all, she didn’t want to make a habit of leaving Christina alone.

After last night’s run in with the young HG, she knew she really needed to play her part as Mrs. Bering better. Helena had been so blasé, so undaunted by the whole incident that Myka knew there would be some sort of verbal fallout; teasing, innuendos, remarks designed to spark a reaction. Everything that the American was susceptible to when it came to falling under the inventor’s power.

A part of her had already considered the ramifications of warning Helena about their daughter’s death. She had visualised, as she held the girl close at night, Christina growing up in this time period with a mother who hopefully wouldn’t suffer through the torment of losing a child. There were just too many unknowns. Her fiancée might never become a murderer, but what would happen to the lives she’d saved?

Had Christina’s killers not met their end at Helena’s hands, who else might they have victimised? Might Joshua’s Trumpet have caused more chaos, killed more people before its capture because Agent Wells wasn’t around to help identify it, track it and convince its user to stop searching for aliens and his father? What would have become of Claudia after her fall into that vat of Boiling Point energy drink or the Warehouse if McPhereson hadn’t been stopped? Would Artie have died in Russia?

What of the lives of Helena’s family? Would she and Christina have survived through two world wars? Would the eight-year-old have eventually married and had her own children? Would they have changed the world in their own small way?

_Too many unknowns; I have to believe that all of this is happening for another reason. If Christina and Helena were meant to be a part of this time, why did they wind up in the future?_ Myka reasoned, feeling justified by her conclusion, but guilty too for wanting things to continue as they had when she _knew_ the lives that would be lost.

At long last, grey light of morning penetrated the fog outside and roused both females from bed. Myka dressed quickly, needing to go to the toilet now that she’d stood up but still uncomfortable with the idea of using the chamber pot. She swept her hair up into a loose bun, letting tendrils fall haphazardly about her face as she left Christina to have her hair plaited by the young maid called Polly.

As with her midnight journey, the American hastened to the WC without thought for what might be happening around her and exited with a light fluttering of butterflies. Had Helena stayed the night? If so, which room had she stayed in and where was she now?

Half way through breakfast, Myka gave up on the idea of seeing the raven-haired inventor that morning. She couldn’t quite decide which emotion was more acute, relief or disappointment.

Christina disappeared into the nursery the moment she was given permission to leave the table and Myka followed Eleanor into her personal study. They had agreed to discuss the results of her conversation with the Warehouse director upon her return, but the previous day had only provided a brief window for a quick chat. Myka was curious as to what the Wells matriarch thought she should do next.

“I hope you managed to sleep well after your altercation with my granddaughter last night,” Mrs. Wells expressed her concern as she took her usual seat in a small arm chair, leaving her guest with the small sofa. “Helena seems to believe that rules are made for the specific purpose of entertaining her as she charges through them with abandon.”

Myka chuckled at the summary of HG’s natural defiance towards convention, her smile remaining in place as she pictured her lover’s mischievous expression whenever she knew she was about to do something she perhaps shouldn’t. “I woke up bright and early so I must have slept enough,” she responded, avoiding a direct answer. It had taken her some time to get back to sleep, but she didn’t want her host to know how much the incident had shaken her.

Eleanor watched the young woman closely. She admired her reserve even as she despaired at it. Her own natural curiosities pushed at her, encouraging her to dig deeper, but years of developing patience allowed her to slow the pace and prod gently at the topic. “You appeared a little shaken. Were you injured?”

“No, I’m fine,” Myka answered, though she knew she probably had a decent sized bruise where she’d backed into the table; the area was more tender than usual. “I’m just relieved that it wasn't a real intruder. I still worry that the slightest action could warp the timeline,” she admitted softly. “Though if Chaturanga is correct in his hypothesis, then nothing I do should make any difference to the time I come from. Every action I will make has already happened, in theory.” Her eyebrows pulled together as her face scrunched up in thought.

Eleanor sat back in her chair, making herself comfortable. “How do you feel about that?”

The agent took a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair. She wished she could go into detail, to share all the ins and outs of her feelings on this subject, specifically _why_. “It would make my situation simpler. Easier in a way. I wouldn't have to worry about making a mistake; not that I would suddenly decide to run amok,” she added hastily, a self-conscious chuckle escaping at the thought. “The idea of letting events unfold at their own pace goes against my nature; I like cold hard facts and a detailed plan of action. What choice do I have though? Christina and I were happy in our time, with our family; I wouldn't want to change that. There are so many ways I could try to change the future. I know that great atrocities will happen all around the world, millions will die needlessly and I can't help but wonder if I could somehow prevent it all from happening. Am I being selfish, wanting to return to the simple life I love, or sensible? Would I cause more chaos by trying to help?” She sighed again. “It just feels wrong to sit by and do nothing.”

The older woman nodded thoughtfully. This topic was a minefield and she had to tread carefully. “Though I was raised as a Christian, I must admit that the idea of a single benevolent being has always troubled me. Still, I cannot help believing that there is a reason that events unfold the way they do. Is it tragic that people suffer and should we try to prevent it happening? Of course. Particularly as we command a position of authority, it is our duty to protect those who are unable to protect themselves. However, it is arrogant to think that we alone have the power to ‘save the world’. We are fallible beings and thus, cannot know how our actions will affect others. I understand wanting to change the past, but I think you would be foolish to try.”

Nodding slowly in agreement, the American felt her shoulders slump. It was one thing to guess that nothing could be done but another thing entirely to accept that she shouldn't and wouldn't try. “I guess the question now is, what do I do in the meantime? I can't just sit around your house, taking advantage of your hospitality indefinitely. Christina really needs to regain some sort of routine too.”

“My daughter in law apparently agrees,” Norie announced ruefully.

Myka’s eyes widened in alarm. “Miss. Wells’ mother? We’ve never met,” she added with confusion.

“Questions regarding your arrival were bound to arise sooner or later,” the greying regent explained, appearing decidedly more relaxed than her guest felt.

A sudden spark of understanding lit up green eyes. “That’s why Helena… I mean, Miss. Wells, was here last night, to learn more about me for her mother?” She cringed inwardly at the natural familiarity with which she’d said her lover’s name. She breathed a little easier when she remembered that the regent already suspected a connection.

“Oh my son’s wife most definitely wants to discover more about you, if only to disperse the gossip mongers. Genevieve fears that rumours that reflect poorly on Rupert and myself will, in turn, reflect poorly on her.” She shifted slightly in her chair, betraying some of her own irritation. “Unfortunately, a young woman alone with a child, arriving in the dead of night, sparks inquiry.”

“Do you have a solution in mind?” Myka wondered, deferring to the Victorian’s better understanding of the period and society.

“I discussed the matter with Helena last night.” Eleanor paused deliberately, watching the time-traveller’s open expression carefully as she pretended to make herself more comfortable.

Realising too late that she was allowing her emotions to show like an open book, Myka gripped the edge of the couch surreptitiously. “What did she say? Did she mention our scuffle? Was she hurt?”

The regent smiled kindly. “She’s tougher than she looks. I sometimes think that nothing short of the apocalypse could put a dent in her,” she laughed gruffly, narrowly missing Myka’s far away look. “Normally, she doesn't pay much attention to her mother’s concerns, but when they involve me, she usually pops by for her own peace of mind. I think you may have taken her by surprise but if anything, that has made her more determined to get to know you.”

Myka met those wise, hazel eyes carefully and blushed uncontrollably at the knowing look staring back at her. _Christ,_ she thought, desperately trying to control the uncontrollable. _Why are we still tiptoeing around this? She all but knows anyway. Why don't I just come right out and say it?_ “That sounds like Helena,” she conceded in a small voice.

Eleanor chuckled, enjoying her own small victory at having waited the young woman out and at the tone of affection in Myka’s voice. “My dear,” she began softly. “I sympathise with your predicament, I do, but it does neither of us any justice to fanny about with this topic any further. You and she are acquainted in your time; you care for her. You might be friends... or possibly more,” her head lowered slightly but her eyes continued to gaze brightly at the agent, giving her that ‘all knowing’ expression. “I have some ideas for how she might have landed herself in the twenty-first century, but I’m afraid my imagination isn’t what it used to be. For all I know, she built a blasted time machine with her own two hands.” She gestured wildly with the last statement and then stood to ring a bell near the door. “I’m beginning to feel rather parched. Would you like tea?”

Myka shook her head, her brain rushing to catch up as she dwelled on the woman’s words. “No, thank you.”

“Are you certain? You should take care to stay hydrated in your condition,” Norie observed kindly.

“I’m fine, thanks,” the agent reiterated, smiling gratefully for the consideration. “You’re... ok then... with her, leanings?” she asked with careful curiosity. She had suspected but not dared to hope that the woman’s open-mindedness would stretch to Helena’s sexuality and by extension, her own.

The older woman guffawed, amused by the American’s delicate wording. “Certainly! I’ve no doubt that human sexuality stretched beyond the bounds of ‘man and woman’ long before there was a name for it. Long before some uptight, sexually repressed person, created the idea of Sodom and Gomorrah, and made us all ashamed of our reproductive necessities.”

Myka shook her head in amusement. It was no wonder that her fiancée worshiped her grandmother; she must have been a beacon of light for someone as free-spirited as Helena, in a world where nicknames were created for body parts that were seen as being too risqué to mention. “You surprise me. Helena always talks about you like you were her idol, but I grew up learning about Victorian’s as a generation of people who pretended that sex didn’t exist, so I always assumed that she was exaggerating.”

“Yes, well, ignoring something so natural has a tendency to push it underground. The upper echelon would have us believe that sexual desire and depravity belong to the lower classes, but the poor don’t have the time or the means to frequent London’s brothels or make use of its working girls. A prostitute sells sex for survival; the man with the chink of coin in his pocket is the one who seeks his pleasure.” Eleanor’s expression hardened the longer she spoke on the subject but softened again as she remembered Myka’s words. “I’m glad that she has something to look back on with fondness. One’s best childhood memories are always amongst the most precious. Is she... happy?”

Myka felt her expression pull into something tender and longing as she thought about home and the life she was making with her family. “Yes,” she said with certainty. “Our time together hasn’t been easy, and there was a period where I didn’t have any hope that we would ever find our way back to one another; she was so... damaged, but in the last year so much has changed.” She looked up from her distant stare at the rug to meet interested, gratified eyes and smiled warmly. “They are everything to me; her and Christina. I couldn’t imagine life without them now.”

“And you’re engaged?” Norie couldn’t help asking, her curiosity finally getting to her now that they had opened the topic. “You can marry?” she added hopefully.

“Yes.” The longer they spoke, the more relaxed the agent began to feel. The woman had guessed so much already, it hardly felt wrong to give her some peace of mind regarding her granddaughter’s fate. “Not everywhere,” she cautioned. “There are some places that I would hardly dare hold her hand, but some attitudes are beginning to change. I think Helena would like to be married from London.”

“And...?” Eleanor nodded to the young agent’s growing bump.

“Oh!” Blushing, Myka shifted a little. In the few short days that she’d been in 1890, she’d really started to feel her body changing, instead of the sickness, parts of her had begun to stretch outward. “Artefact mishap,” she explained briefly.

Leaning back with satisfaction, Norie nodded. “Ah. Say no more. It seems ever more evident that our Warehouse has plans for the two of you.”

Before Myka could add anything or protest the idea, there was a knock at the door and Mrs. Wells bid the maid with the tea to enter. She was an older, slightly buxom woman with red hair tied back in a strict bun, who the American had only caught sight of through the kitchen door. Mostly, she could be identified as the one shouting orders and right at that moment, she looked none too happy.

Upon seeing the woman, Eleanor sighed. “She is awake then,” she began with resignation. “What is she up to this time?”

With a small, respectful bow, the woman reined in her irritation and began to explain. “Beg your pardon Mrs. Wells, but she’s in the stores again. I wouldn’t mind only, you mentioned having guests this Friday coming and I’ll have nothing left for the bread or dinner.”

“I’ll have a word with her, again, and see that you have what you need in good time.” She shared an exasperated, if fond look with the red head before dismissing her. “Thank you, Susan, and please, let Miss. Wells know that, when she has finished pilfering my larder, I would like to see her.”

“Very well, Ma’am,” Susan replied, a small look of resigned amusement colouring her expression.

“She steals from you?” Myka asked, shocked.

Eleanor waved the concern away and leant forward to begin the ceremony of making her tea. “Salt and baking soda usually, for her experiments. She never thinks to order her own deliveries before she goes away, so when she returns from an assignment and has an urge to make things explode, she liberates the ingredients from my stores. She reimburses me of course, but it drives the kitchen staff to distraction when they come to do their jobs and half of their stock is missing.”

The curly-haired visitor tried to restrain a chuckle but failed. “She is a handful.”

“Hmm,” the regent smirked around her cup as she sipped her tea. “I imagine you can attest to that quite literally.”

Myka flushed at the insinuation, heat suddenly suffusing her body. She had to remember to watch what she said around this woman. Instead of responding verbally, she simply glared at the amused Victorian, making her disapproval known. It was in that moment, while the time traveller was still trying to rid her mind of images of her lover, that the young HG chose to enter.

Myka hoped that her reddening cheeks could be explained away by embarrassment for their run in the previous evening, and not recognised for her appreciation of Helena’s figure in the period dress she wore. Gone were the shirt, waistcoat and trousers that the American loved so much but far from lessening the appeal, Myka found herself imagining the curves that were hidden instead. _Oh, this is not a good start,_ she despaired silently as her gaze made an involuntary sweep and came to rest on dark eyes that sparked with mischief.

Barely hearing Eleanor’s suggestion that the inventor should join them, she watched the deliberate sway of Helena’s hips as she approached and felt her breath catch.

All of this could not have taken more than a few seconds but it was long enough for a small smirk to appear on the inventor’s lips.

As Eleanor had seated herself in the only single chair, HG had no choice but to take the space next to Myka, though the American was certain that Helena sat much closer than she needed to given the width of the couch. Feeling curious eyes on her, Myka shifted, fighting valiantly against a surge of arousal as she turned to meet the supposed stranger.

Helena’s elegant hand approached and waited, prompting an automatic response from Myka, who swallowed even harder when her offered appendage was swiftly captured and two soft lips caressed her middle knuckle. “Miss. Helena Wells,” HG introduced herself smoothly, the glint still present. “Just to prove that I can be civilised,” she added with a glance at her grandmother.

Willing the adolescent within to calm the sudden influx of hormones, Myka recovered her hand and folded it neatly into her lap with its partner, ignoring the tingling where Helena’s kiss lingered.

“Myka Bering,” the time traveller offered and then, remembering the ruse added, “Mrs.”

Helena’s expression dismissed the addition; she logged the hesitation as a point of interest and turned to face the elder Wells. “Have you discussed our plan with _Mrs._ Bering?” Before Eleanor could answer, the inventor returned her gaze to the curly-haired visitor. “Darling, that sounds awfully stuffy; would you mind terribly if I called you Myka? It just rolls off the tongue.” She felt those forest green eyes dissecting her and wondered for a split second if she’d taken her bravado too far. A small nod belayed her fears and, bolstered by the small victory, she placed a hand on the brunette’s forearm, leaving it there as if it had a mind of its own while she continued. “Thank you.” She faced her grandmother again. “Have you discussed our plan with Myka?”

Eleanor mentally shook her head; sometimes she despaired at the lengths her granddaughter would go to spark interest in her prospective paramours, but she admired the girl’s tenacity.

It was a curious experience, watching Helena with Myka. There was the usual posturing, the ‘accidental’ tactile overtures and the polite disregard of social boundaries, all of which could be explained away as simple quirks of character, over friendliness, but there was an underlying tenderness in her Little One that she’d never witnessed before. Helena cared. She trod cautiously to avoid rejection, when normally she would not have given a monkey’s. It was subtle but to someone who knew her well, the signs of a deeper attraction were there.

“We were discussing the length of her stay and the steps we must follow to remove her from the grip of our good neighbours’ unfettered curiosity, yes.” She looked to the woman in question for acknowledgement but received none. She noted the American’s slightly glazed expression and hid her smile.

As the regent found humour, Myka battled with her traitorous body. She itched to lean into the figure beside her; this electrical presence that set her pulse racing and her skin tingling. It was like the beginning of Helena’s career with Warehouse 13 all over again, only now it was imperative that she didn’t give in to temptation. She had been so sure that her previous experience would give her some advantage, protection against the assault on her senses, but it appeared that her hopes had been in vain; she was so used to indulging her need for intimacy with her fiancée that it was taking all of her concentration not to respond.

Realising that Helena’s hand had withdrawn, releasing her from its tantalising spell, Myka heard the anticipatory silence and wracked her brain for an answer. “I can’t continue to hide,” she finally responded, hoping that she was on the right track.

“Precisely,” Helena agreed. “But you’re not to worry, darling; we have it all under control.”

Full of enthusiasm, HG jumped into an explanation of her planned soiree, only occasionally pausing to debate the details with her grandmother when she disagreed with the number of guests or the timing.

Myka listened with half an ear, inordinately thankful for her eidetic memory as she used the time to find the control she needed and imagined the heated conversation she would have with her fiancée when she eventually got home. Helena would have some grovelling to do to apologise for putting her through this torture.

 


	8. Chapter 8

After spending the night alternating between tossing and turning, and being unable to wake from dreams that bordered on nightmares, Helena sat at the breakfast bar in her kitchen, a cup of tea between her hands, listening to the hum of the fridge and waiting for her nineteen year old daughter to wake up.

Mrs. Fredrick had appeared during their debate with Artie about involving the regents and confirmed that Christina was under Helena’s care and free to return to the Bering/Wells house until further notice. Neither of them were to leave the area without permission and the younger time traveller had to be supervised if she decided to leave the house. HG chaffed at the order - not because she had plans to go anywhere while Myka and little Christina were missing, but because it was the usual condescension she expected from the Warehouse magnates.

Had Norie and her grandfather been the same way? Were the restrictions she’d endured early in her Warehouse career dictated by them? Christina had still been very young when they decided that a trip to America was in order and news had returned of their ship finding its final resting place on the Atlantic’s bed, a stone’s throw from Boston Harbour.

Had that really happened or had their journey been more about scouting out new locations for Warehouse Thirteen and they’d just decided to spend their remaining years in that new land? Perhaps the telegram conveying a stranger’s condolences had been their way to cut clean ties and not leave their loved ones wondering after their fate.

Expect, now Helena _was_ wondering and she was hurt that, the woman who she’d loved like a mother, had lied to her.

Not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, HG tried to pull something, anything from her memory that might relate to what was happening with Myka and their little girl. The harder she pushed though, the foggier the images seemed to get. Eventually, she conceded that there was an artefact at work. It was like the Janus Coin and Emily Lake scenario all over again. At least she didn’t have a cat this time.

Giving up on her stolen memories, she recalled the previous evening and the awkward silence she and Christina had endured before the young woman began to stammer another apology and Helena pulled her into another hug to try to prevent the inevitable flow of tears. She couldn’t stand to see her daughter cry, not when it was for a genuinely lamentable reason, and apparently that wouldn’t change at all as the girl got older.

Heaven knew what she would be like when the other two arrived and there were three of them. This stray thought caught her by surprise. How did she still have hope? She shook off the question and turned her thoughts to the young woman on the floor above.

As she began again to agonise over her future and the decision she would make to send Christina on this journey, dull footsteps plodded down the stairs and the young adult in question shuffled into the kitchen.

Helena watched her struggle in vain to tame the mop of wavy locks on her head and considered briefly whether the colour and cut had been a fashion choice or whether it had been specifically for this mission. Deciding that the reason was irrelevant, she waited until Christina was sat down before reaching over to ruffle her hair into further disarray.

“Oi!” The young woman ducked out of the way as her mother made a second, more concerted swipe. “Bloody-hell, Mum. It’s too early. I need coffee,” she grumbled as she leant her elbows against the cool counter top and pushed fingers into her hair.

“I made a pot of tea,” HG informed her, sounding mildly disappointed.

CJ nodded mutely and then caught the expression of distaste on her mother’s face. “What?”

“You actually like that vile, black liquid?”

“I put cream in it,” she defended. “Come on, Mum! Plenty of people in twenty-first century England enjoy coffee.”

Straightening and tossing her head imperially, Helena sniffed. “It will never replace a good cup of tea.”

Christina rolled her eyes and grinned to herself. She tipped off her stool and wandered over to the cabinet nearest the percolator. She found the ground coffee but paused to watch her mother’s reaction as she said, “Maybe not, but no matter how much you complain about it, I know you like it for at least one reason.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell before I agree to such a preposterous accusation,” the inventor insisted but after a quiet moment of her daughter gazing at her knowingly, she sighed and then waved an arm in the air. “Very well, illuminate me.”

“You spent a whole year researching the perfect cup of coffee. You bought several machines and dismantled them in your workshop, figuring out the mechanics.” Christina folded her arms across her chest and smirked at the astonishment staring back at her. “Finally, after weeks of smelling burnt coffee, you took Mama breakfast in bed, with the finished product.”

Helena realised that her mouth was hanging open slightly and snapped it shut. “I... well... did she appreciate it?”

CJ rolled her eyes, remembering clearly the heated looks her parents had thrown one another that entire morning. “I’m just glad it was a school day. You both looked exhausted by the time we got home. I don’t want to know how much noise you made.” She winced and shook her head of the thought. “You still get this little smile at the corner of your mouth when you watch her take that first sip. Mama reckons you should patent it. It’s the quietest, most reliable machine ever made, but you won’t because apparently, it’s one of a kind, like her,” her tone softened as she smiled and shared the moment, appreciating what their family meant to them.

“Well, anything to make Myka happy,” HG concluded, breaking the near silence.

Christina finished fiddling with the machine and leant back against the counter as she waited for the coffee to brew. She took a moment while Helena was immersed in her thoughts to study her mother.

She couldn’t help noticing that, though this woman was more than a decade younger than the one she knew, at that moment in time, she looked so much older. CJ saw the effort her mother was making to be strong, to hide how much her daughter and Myka’s absence was affecting her and knew that was the reason for the ageing effect.

Giving the inventor a few moments to herself, Christina remained silent, waiting until she had her own beverage in hand and a refill for her mother before approaching the breakfast bar again.

“They have to return you know,” she said with as much conviction as she could muster. “Otherwise I wouldn’t still be here.”

Sipping from her fresh cup and savouring the heat, HG nodded but raised an eyebrow at the attempt to assuage her. “Unless they are able to create an alternate existence.”

“This isn’t Star Trek, Mum,” Christina responded, rolling her eyes slightly. “Besides, they still have to return here for me to be able to return here to start the whole thing going again. _When_ I come from,” she prefaced, grinning a little at the deliberate choice of words. “You’ve already lived through all of this and Mama came back with Mini-Me when they were able to.”

“You really can’t tell me how she discovered a way back?” Helena prodded once more.

“I don’t remember much,” she shrugged. “Mama always talked to you and great grandma Norie in private. When we weren’t together, I played in the nursery or explored the gardens with great grandpa Rupert and Polly. I think Mama tried to distract me from what was happening so I wouldn’t get too upset.” Her serious expression suddenly lightened as she remembered the pact she’d made with Myka. “She figured that something would happen to your memory so I said I’d ask you questions that wouldn’t make sense to you until we returned and you had your memory back.”

Smiling at the mischief in the young woman’s eyes, Helena felt herself relax slightly. “Something to look forward to then?” She chuckled at the thought, anticipating the look on her eight-year-old’s face. “So, other than being shot,” she began again, the image sending another icy tendril along her spine. “You don’t remember anything terrible happening?”

Christina stiffened at the question, her instinctive reaction betraying her even as she shook her head. Catching an admonishing glare from her mother, she slumped in her seat. She gulped from her mug and then stared into its depths. “Mum, what does it really matter; so long as they come home in one piece?”

Helena abandoned her drink, pushing her stool from the counter and stalking across the kitchen in three agitated steps before turning swiftly round. She bit her lip and tugged both hands through her hair. The urge to shout and scorn was strong but she held it back.

“It matters,” she insisted through clenched teeth.

“No, it really doesn’t!” Christina shot back, her own emotions running rampant at the idea of reliving those difficult weeks yet again. “It’s not like you can do anything to help them!” She pushed her own mug away, her gaze falling on anything that would help her calm her mind and stem the tide.

Helena looked to the ceiling, jaw clenched around harsh words. “Love, you were just a child then,” she began again, trying to avoid the argument that was heating up. “You may have witnessed things that made little to no impact on you.”

“ _Then,_ Mum. Prerogative word. And I saw and heard plenty of impacting things that I didn’t want to see,” she added accusatively. She felt momentarily bad for the exaggeration, but seeing her Mummy kissing anyone _but_ her Mama had stuck in her psyche.

Picturing her little girl struggling with these things only made HG more determined. “So it stands to reason that I might be correct,” she pushed.

The young woman groaned with genuine exasperation, feeling the companionable atmosphere disappear completely. “God! I thought this conversation was hard the first twenty times,” she complained mostly to herself. She finally faced Helena again, but was no less resolute in her desire to ‘keep mum’. “Look, you, Mama and practically every other person we know has quizzed me about this. There’s nothing left to dig for. Don’t you think if you had discovered something that would help, you would have told me to pass it on?”

Standing rigid, torn between needing information and not wanting to antagonise her daughter any further, the inventor breathed deliberately. Unfortunately, for her, she wasn’t very good at hiding her feelings when she was riled and her frustration was clear in her tone. “I hardly think that means we should stop trying.”

Angry now at having to deal with her mother’s stubbornness yet again, Christina pushed her stool back, its legs scraping the stone-tiled floor, and left the room. “There’s no pissing point!” She shouted in her wake.

HG covered her face with her hands, the sound of a door slamming in the distance making her wince. “Well done, Helena,” she congratulated herself sarcastically. “Great parenting.”

On autopilot, she collected their discarded cups and washed them, leaving them on the draining board to air dry. Keeping busy would make this whole ordeal progress so much faster, but the only thing she wanted to be busy doing was helping. By Christina’s estimation, they would only have to wait about a week, but to the inventor, seven days seemed like a lifetime. This from someone who had spent over a hundred conscious years in suspended animation.

It was a learning curve, realising how far she could push her daughter before it became too much. There was never a conscious intention to badger people; especially those she loved, but often her own thirst for knowledge drove any consideration she had for their patience out of the window. The realisation that she’d pushed too far never seemed to arise until it was too late.

The mission that Christina had been given was obviously difficult for the young woman. Helena had a sneaking suspicion that she knew more than she was admitting and couldn’t help but wonder what impact it might have on their lives. What was clear though, was that she had to let the young woman volunteer information at her own pace; incidents like this morning were not going to help them.

HG found herself wandering through the downstairs rooms, at a loss for what she should do next. Once her mind was made up, she wanted to immediately find Christina and check on her, but for once, she decided to curb her rash leanings. The woman was barely out of her teens, still so young, and Helena remembered her own youth well enough to realise that time was needed for them both to contemplate the argument and get a hold of their emotions.

As lunchtime approached though and the inventor felt that food was a must, she prepared a few soft-boiled eggs and carried them, and four rounds of toast, up to her daughter’s room. Having no hands free, she used the toe of her shoe to tap on the door and prayed that her attempt at an apology would be accepted.

There came the slight creaking of the bed and footsteps coming closer before the door opened and a hesitant face appeared at the threshold. Christina paused for a moment in confusion and then, ever so slowly, a soft smile chased away the gloom behind her expression. She made room for her mother to squeeze passed her and followed her over to the desk, pulling a crude drawing of the solar system out of the way as Helena placed the tray down. Wordlessly, they each found something to sit on and gathered close to the desk.

“No soldiers?” Christina enquired through a tentatively mischievous smile.

HG’s eyebrows rose and she paused halfway through cutting her egg. “I figured I’d presumed to tell you enough this morning and that you were perhaps old enough to make your own decisions on more than just the information you want to share.” She had meant the comment to be teasing but her tone suggested more contrition than anything.

The young woman gazed gratefully into dark brown depths for several seconds. “Thanks,” she choked. There was an awkward silence before Helena leaned in and pulled her daughter into a tight hug, kissing her hair habitually. Christina eventually sat back with a teary smile. “For future reference though, I always want soldiers,” she announced cheekily before tucking into her lunch.

Moments spent in conspiracy, racing to cut toast into thin strips for dunking, eventually became subdued again as they ate and recalled the reason for the distant tension in the room.

As Helena had provided the peace offering, Christina decided that she could break the silence. “Mum?” she mumbled as she picked at a crust of toast.

“Yes, my darling?” She watched the nervous behaviour through her peripheral vision and reminded herself not to jump on her daughter’s every word.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you. I just...” She sighed and discarded the shredded morsel back on the plate. “I know you’ve got to be going mad with worry already and I don’t want to add to that for no good reason.” The expression behind her eyes pleaded with the older Victorian to understand her reasons.

“Ok,” the inventor whispered reluctantly. “I’m not going to try to force or trick you into telling me, and though it’s not going to stop me looking, I understand that you believe there’s nothing we can do to help.”

“But?”

“But,” Helena smiled briefly at the prompt. “With regard to how much I might be worrying, don’t you think that my imagination may be worse than your truth?”

Christina’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you said you weren’t going to try to trick me?”

HG chuckled at the accusation. “It did sound rather like that didn’t it? That wasn’t my intention, Love. I was simply highlighting a flaw in your well-meaning logic.”

The mousy-haired Wells sighed again, this time in surrender. “Mama was right,” she muttered. “You really do make every effort not to be wrong when it’s something you really want.”

Helena tried not to smirk as she briefly imagined the fond annoyance on her lover’s face. They were two peas in a pod when it came to wanting to have answers to everything, but Myka being Myka, she was usually the first one to drop an argument, leaving the raven-haired inventor with the last word. HG often found herself paying for her stubbornness in other ways, but it was all part and parcel with who they were.

“I make no apologies,” she replied imperiously.

“Hmff,” Christina scoffed, rolling her eyes. She took a quiet moment to compose herself and carefully considered her words. “I had a few nightmares about Mama being shot, once we were back home, but most of my bad dreams were about her being ill.”

Helena felt the blood drain from her face slightly but held her tongue. _Christina says they’ll come home in one piece. Surely that means Myka recovered._ She closed her eyes and then when nothing else was forthcoming, opened them to find her daughter considering her closely. “Go on,” she reassured her.

“We’d been there about three weeks. Mama came back from a party at uncle Charlie’s upset. The next day, she couldn’t get out of bed. The doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong and started talking about sedating her because she wouldn’t let them try any of their cures on her.” She looked up from the doodle she’d been drawing on a post-it, into cold eyes. Shaking off the shiver that ran along her spine, she finished quickly. “Then, as suddenly as it started, she was fine. Good as new. One day, she was making you promise to look after me, the next day, she was walking around like nothing had happened.”

“It has to have been an artefact,” HG whispered hoarsely, passed the lump constricting her throat.

“That’s what I eventually figured, but it was years before either of you would tell me the whole story.” Seeing the expectant expression on her mother’s features, she shook her head slowly. “Nu-uh. _That_ I’m not allowed to tell you. Bosses’ orders.”

“What boss?” Helena demanded, feeling put out again; it was a lot to take in.

“You and Mama,” Christina smiled again, though the effect was dampened by the residual sobering feeling of her story. “You’ll just have to wait until you have your memories back.”

Shoulders stiffening with resolve, the inventor began collecting their used plates and moved with renewed intention towards the door. “Then I know where my next port of call will be.”

“Rather them than me,” CJ muttered to herself as they made their way back downstairs.

* * * * *

Two days passed before Helena was granted an audience with a regent. Two days of pacing the various rooms of her home and causing increasingly ridiculous arguments with her daughter. Two days becoming more and more irritable as lack of sleep began to catch up with her and the frustration she felt from being unable to help eroded the more endearing elements of her personality, leaving behind a snappy, disagreeable woman who everyone began to avoid.

The second visit she made to the Warehouse with Christina ended almost as soon as it began; her mood so foul that Pete actually shouted at her for almost reducing Claudia to tears.

No one was able to placate her, or meet her exacting standards when they did try to help. She complained that the new agents were bloody useless and hampered her efforts, but when Artie had to send them to New Zealand to hunt down a Maori talisman, she argued that it could wait and that they needed all hands on deck. When he wouldn’t relent and reminded her of their duty as agents, she swept half the contents of his desk on the floor and broke his favourite mug.

After this display, he banned her from the Warehouse until she could bring her emotions under control.

Her one saving attribute was the conviction she put into following the rules. There had been a long list of them following her re-reinstatement as an agent and then there was the promise she’d made to Artie not to abuse the artefacts or set out on her own without informing anyone of her intentions. Everything she did, no matter how small, she logged for the director to review, and anything restricted that she needed, she asked for. She often didn’t like the replied she got but she used the system like everyone else, possibly for the first time in her career.

Being caged in with her mother in this mood was not Christina’s idea of a good time and after forty-eight hours of torture, she had a long conversation with Claudia, making an impassioned speech to encourage the regents to get themselves into gear and stop hiding. At the same time, they agreed that Helena would benefit from a visit by Mrs. Fredrick and Dr. Calder, to address her sleeping issues. By this point, HG was running mostly on adrenaline and stubborn determination.

Mrs. Lattimer and Mr. Kosan arrived late in the afternoon, three days after Myka and young Christina’s disappearance. Helena was reaching the end of her tether and greeted them with a sarcastic ‘nice of you to pop by’. Both regents ignored the jibe and made their way into the living room without preamble.

Jane immediately took a seat but Adwin remained standing and merely gestured the other occupants of the house towards the couch. HG looked like she was going to refuse but as the regent stood calmly, waiting, she breathed a deep sigh and sank down next to Christina.

“Agent Wells, I’m pleased to see that you are trying hard to make appropriate choices. I appreciate how this situation has been particularly trying.” As he spoke, from the corner of his eye, he saw her posture change and her eyes roll. “You have something to add?” He crossed his hands over the front of his jacket and observed Helena with a knowing smile.

“Are regents trained in the art of patronisation? Or is it just the head regent’s job?” Her accumulated irritation coloured her tone, making the question extra spiky.

 Unperturbed, Mr. Kosan remained polite as he gestured to the door and asked, “If you would prefer for us to leave...?”

HG’s expression soured further but she managed to keep her tongue. From her left, a hand grasped hers and as she looked, a soft gaze pleaded with her to let it go.

“Mum, please. You wanted them here so let’s hear what they have to say,” she implored.

Helena gazed at her daughter with tired eyes and for a moment, thought she saw a flicker of her fiancée in the young woman’s features. It was that likeness, the illusion of Myka’s encouragement, that convinced her to give up her bone of contention and make the most of the opportunity.

Her hand squeezed Christina’s, anchoring herself as she turned back to face Adwin. She didn’t offer an apology but gave him a nod that said he could continue without interruption.

“I understand your frustration, Agent Wells. I’m sorry that you don’t believe the validity of my sympathy but I _am_ pleased with how you’ve been conducting yourself. There are those who would like to see you fail and I am grateful that you are not giving them reason to gloat.” The head regent approached his colleague and held out his right hand, into which she placed a collection of old journals. “I’m proud of you,” he continued as he stepped back towards the Wells duo and passed the leather bound books to HG. “And I think there are others who would be too, even though they are no longer with us.”

All irritation suddenly dissipated as Helena studied the journals in her hands and was replaced by an odd sense of longing as she realised who they had belonged to. “Why do you have her journals?” she asked in a hushed tone. Though the answer was fairly self-evident, she wanted to hear it from the regent’s mouth.

Mr. Kosan finally decided to take a seat, nodding to Jane to take up the explanation. Pete’s mom leant forward in her seat, the Ramati shackle slipping out from the cuff of her jacket as she leant her forearms on her knees.

“Helena, I know you don’t have a very high opinion of our position with the Warehouse. That’s understandable considering your experiences, but we have a duty, to uphold rules and standards that agents are not privilege to.” She nodded towards the journals, reinforcing her point. “Your grandmother knew that and kept her involvement secret from you despite how much it hurt her to do so. Much as I chose to do with Peter before I was accidentally ‘outed’.”

Jane glanced back at her boss who nodded imperceptibly to indicate that she’d said enough; they had both been of the same opinion that they should talk as little as possible on this occasion; Agent Wells would only have more questions for them when she’d finished reading her grandmother’s journals.

“Regarding your request to have your memory restored,” Mr. Kosan took over again, his smooth tone conveying sincere regret beneath that unflappable veneer. “The artefact used to store them is time sensitive; it cannot be activated until a particular event has passed. We assume that this will happen on Agent Bering’s return. Until then, I suggest you immerse yourself in these,” he gestured to the books on HG’s lap. “You may find more clues to your history than I could tell you.”

Helena felt her body lose its tension and sank into the couch cushions. She’d worked herself up for a fight, expecting to face nothing but resistance from the upper end of their hierarchy, but now that she had access to information and an answer as to why she couldn’t have her memories, she felt all the adrenaline leave her. Abruptly, all she wanted to do was lie her head down and sleep.

Seeing the complete change of attitude in her mother, Christina stood and quietly saw the regents out. “Thank you,” she said as they left. “She’s been tying herself in knots trying to do something to help. I’m used to her being so strong; it’s disconcerting to see her like this.”

“You’re being strong enough for both of you,” Jane reassured the time traveller as she gently squeezed her upper arm. “It’s in your genes,” she added with a wink.

Mousey-brown waves shook as Christina met Regent Lattimer’s gaze in surprise. “You know?” she asked in a hushed tone, her attention flicking between the pair.

Adwin Kosan inclined his head, confirming her question. “You have contained the situation well, but if you do require further assistance, our door is open,” the head regent informed her. “Much of our task now is to wait. Regent Lattimer will return in two days time if Agent Wells wishes to address any specifics from her findings.”

“Dr. Calder and Irene will be by this evening,” the redhead added, anticipating the question on the young woman’s mind.

Christina breathed a steadying breath and thanked them again. She turned into the house in a semi-daydream, closing the front door softly behind her.

How had they discovered her secret? It couldn’t be in the journals her mother had; they wouldn’t have allowed her to have them if there was a chance of her learning more than she should know at this point. Perhaps her great-grandmother had left knowledge of her origins in another time sensitive place; if her Mum was going to share that secret with anyone, it would be her beloved Norie. Perhaps the astute regent had anticipated the support her great-granddaughter might need while waiting for her Mama to return.

After a prolonged period of staring at the door, lost in her thoughts, she turned back towards the living room, stopping dead in her tracks when suspicious eyes were there to meet her.

“Secrets are damned near a profession in our family,” HG’s wry voice broke the terse silence.


	9. Chapter 9

Gradually, as grandmother and granddaughter hammered out the finer points of their plan for Myka’s debut, the curly-haired American brought her jumping heart under control and began to relax.

She recalled the way Helena had tempted her into bed the first time; one fine day in Univille when Leena’s had been curiously empty save the two of them. A day she had intended to spend reading was spent with her arms wrapped around a lithe figure, holding onto anything that would stop her floating away. Only after Yellowstone had she looked back on that day and felt like an idiot for being so easy to manipulate. While she no longer regretted her weakness, she was older and wiser. She recognised HG’s games; the subtle flirting, the touching, the eye contact. All of it made her insides quiver the way it had back at Leena’s, but this time, she was the one with the means to be in control.

Eleanor was called away just as the conversation began to reach a resolution and she left her guests to entertain themselves; parting with an apologetic glance at the time traveller and a warning glare at the younger Wells.

Helena leant back into the couch cushions and crossed her legs towards Myka, taking several seconds to rearrange her skirt while the American looked on.

“Well, darling, it’s just the two of us now.” She caught the brunette with a calculating look. “So what’s the _real_ story, _Mrs._ Bering?”

For a moment, Myka contemplated feigning ignorance but one look at Helena’s expression told her that she would just end up encouraging the inventor to dig harder. She decided to settle for a summarised version of the truth. “I’m very grateful for your grandparents’ hospitality. Christina and I left home unexpectedly and weren’t prepared to end up in London. We’re stuck here until our transport is ready to take us home.” Her face became more serious as she added, “I can’t really tell you more than that.” Not waiting for Helena to respond, Myka rose from her seat. “I should go and find out what my daughter is up to. Your grandfather promised to give her a guided tour of the gardens.”

“Marvellous!” HG exclaimed, jumping to her feet with no intention of letting the American escape. “My afternoon is woefully bereft of plans.” She joined the other woman on her way out the door, pretending not to see the hint of panic directed her way.

Myka puffed out a breath of air and jumped when her companion’s arm snaked its way round hers. She swallowed hard. _Control, remember?_ They began walking in the direction of the garden, Helena’s hip coming close to bumping against the time traveller’s. It was somewhat comforting, having her lover’s body so close; an anchor in a storm, but the effort it took not to lean into that figure was exhausting.

“Miss. Wells,” Myka protested gently as she untangled herself and took a step away. “I am capable of walking on my own.” She caught the instant expression of disappointment in the inventor’s eyes and had to dig her feet into the rug so she wouldn’t automatically respond. The hurt was quickly masked however and they continued in silence for a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you,” she eventually added.

Helena’s softened gaze lighted on the brunette and a wry smile tugged at her mouth. She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Who am I to criticise a woman who desires independence? Indeed, I should be encouraging it. Far too many of our sex pander to the notion that we must be looked after, guided. As if we were incapable of realising our own needs and desires.”

“You don’t believe that it’s possible to have both?” The American enquired, finding an irresistible need to pick the young H.G. Wells’ brain.

Dark, calculating eyes narrowed on the taller woman. “Not impossible perhaps but improbable.”

“Your grandmother appears to have managed quite well,” Myka noted obstinately.

“As I said, not impossible.” Helena gestured for the taller woman to go ahead of her and followed. There were not many women she found she could debate with. Most quickly grew tired of her preferred topics and others tried to appease her by agreeing with her every thought. There was something open and honest about Myka’s expression and her words, yet the woman was definitely hiding something. “She was fortunate to attract a simple man,” she continued seamlessly.

“Simple?” Myka turned sharply to give HG her full attention. “That’s hardly fair. He’s lovely. You’re lucky to have him.” She knew that her tone likely wasn’t appropriate for a conversation with someone she’d ‘just met’, but she felt their natural propensity to banter pushing through her thoughts. Seeing the inventor’s attention drift to the window, she followed suit.

They stood now in the sunroom, overlooking the garden where a young girl skipped with unrestrained excitement through the flowers, her focus drifting between the late autumn hangers-on and the patient gentleman who followed at a short distance. Myka couldn’t prevent the shiver of joy that ran the length of her body. She wished she had a camera.

Helena watched the two also, particularly the enchanting girl. Something deep down inside tugged, wanting her to step closer. She shook her head, refocusing on the conversation. “I could not wish for a better grandfather. Though he is hardly the mould from which men are formed,” she argued.

“True,” Myka sighed in agreement. Watching her future bride from the corner of her eye, she couldn’t help calculating Christina’s birth again and wondered whether Helena had somehow falsified the records. Perhaps she wasn’t born in May at all, but then why wouldn’t Helena have told her that? Swallowing her fear and thinking of Christina she added, “You shouldn’t give up on them completely though.”

Helena shot the brunette a curious glance. “Like your intended?” she suggested, the bitterness in her tone not quite what she’d planned for.

Myka returned the look, reading more into the exchange than HG was probably aware of. “We respect one another,” she offered. It was cruel, having to speak about her partner as a man, but she had little choice. “That’s not to say that we always agree, but we’re learning how to compromise.”

“Compromise?” The inventor scoffed, unconvinced. “A rare quality in a man.”

Myka watched the young HG retreat into herself; her whole demeanour announcing her dislike of the conversation. As for herself, she didn’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity of the moment or sigh.

“Not everyone finds their intended. That one person who completes them like no other,” the time traveller advised softly, her hand straying to land gently on a slumped shoulder. “But I’m sure _you_ will, Helena... Someday.”

HG read the sincerity behind those intelligent green eyes and wondered what Myka knew that made her so sure. The room around her seemed to spin as she fell into the American’s gaze, the only outward sensation left being the touch of a hand on her shoulder, while her heart hammered in her chest.

As if she were a Russian doll, Helena felt her layers being pulled apart, slowly exposing her vulnerable inner core. Myka’s gaze which, until now, had avoided meeting hers too closely, seemed to reach inside of her and grab tightly, wrapping her in knots. Those glittering pools offered a fathomless sea of possibilities and beckoned her to jump in, to release all control and throw herself at the mercy of this unknown desire.

Concerned at the abrupt change in HG’s eyes, Myka squeezed the shoulder beneath her fingers. “Miss. Wells...?”

The slight tone of worry around her name brought the inventor out of her trance and she slowly came back to reality. _What the bloody hell was that?_ Startled, she stepped back suddenly and stared at the brunette like she’d just been slapped.

Her body still thrumming, she stammered an apology and stumbled towards the door. She was vaguely aware of Myka’s verbal concerns following her out but didn’t stop to answer.

Uncaring of the odd looks she was getting, Helena let her legs carry her to the confines of her room, where she closed the door firmly, locking the world away as she closed her eyes and took a breath.

Away from the source of her distress, HG was finally able to calm her mind and bring her body back under control.

“Oh good Lord, HG,” she mumbled into the empty room, her tone disparaging. “Why make such a spectacle of yourself?” _When was the last time you ran from a handsome woman?_ Her thoughts continued to speculate as she collapsed onto the bed. _Not since Margret’s sixteenth celebration when she cornered you in the sitting room while everyone was at dinner._

She had never thought there would be a repeat of that moment, and now here she was, almost ten years later, acting a bigger fool than ever. She had been innocent then, unaware of her own body and desires. The sudden influx of hormones had sent her running. Now she was experienced and no longer the blushing fifteen year old. How had this stranger managed to reduce her to a trembling adolescent with just one look?

Despite the ever present coolness in the air now, HG tugged at the collar of her dress, bemoaning the snap decision she’d made late that morning to choose something conventional to wear. She recalled the surprise and interest in Myka’s eyes and decided that she didn’t regret it. Still, it was constricting now and holding onto the extra heat beneath.

Taking her time, Helena removed the restrictive garment and donned her preferred outfit. When she was once again presentable, she hovered by the door.

Unused to being so shaken up, she was kicking herself for her abrupt and undignified departure. What would Myka think to her strange behaviour? What sort of impression had she given after her flirtatious beginning?

“What are you doing, HG?”

Just yesterday, she’d had no consideration for how one person might become the sole focus of her undivided attention. Eleanor had warned her, or tried to, but this couldn’t be love, could it? That sort of nonsense, love at first sight and all that rot, were tales for gullible or fanciful children. Those whose minds had no experience of the hardships of reality or how the world worked outside of the magical land of make believe.

“It’s not love,” she told herself firmly.

She thought of Myka’s mystery beau and felt that spike of jealousy return. It was an impossible task to imagine a man who would be good enough for the sharp brunette. Very few men lived up to her exacting standards and she loathed seeing women ‘sold’ to the highest bidder. Matchmaking was a pastime bandied about by older women to see their daughters married off to the most eligible man, and was generally considered harmless or even helpful. Helena thought it archaic and barbaric. It pained her to think of Myka in that position and she was convinced that this must be the case, regardless of how the brunette described her impending nuptials.

Helena knew deep down that she was beginning to tread through dangerous waters; it was stupid to raise Myka on a pedestal when she barely knew the woman, but put quite simply, she couldn’t help herself. She’d barely known the brunette a day and she was enamoured already. This way could only lie disaster yet she already knew that nothing could stop her from taking that plunge.

Resolve restored, HG appeared from her hiding place with her mask of confidence back in place and a slight swagger to her step. She wouldn’t hide from Myka and she’d be damned if she was going to let anyone think of her as a coward.

* * * * *

Several seconds passed as Myka stared after Helena’s retreating form. She felt her own heart beating wildly; the charged look that had passed between them took her back to that moment in their bathroom, when she’d been under Inanna’s influence and all she could think of was being intimate with her mate. She had been unable to tear herself away and Helena hadn’t disappointed.

Feeling a shiver pass through her at the memory, she placed both hands over her gently protruding stomach. _What’s the connection?_ she thought, her frustration building.

The Warehouse was playing with them and Myka frowned at the idea of being a puppet to another being’s desire. It reminded her too much of her childhood and her parents’ all-knowing if well-meaning rule, and to some extent, her relationship with Sam. Seeing Helena’s momentary distress infused her with another level of anger. Wouldn’t Helena suffer enough if she was destined to lose Christina? Why was she being tortured now?

She wanted to run after the inventor but decided against it. Helena needed time to process without her interference. By the time she did hear returning footsteps, Rupert had dropped Christina off in the sunroom. The minute the eight year old stiffened in her arms, she knew who had joined them. With a whispered reassurance in her daughter’s ear, she calmed them both and turned to greet HG.

“Miss. Wells,” Myka said as if nothing strange had passed between them. She noticed a flicker of relief pass over the raven-haired woman’s expression before it was quickly snuffed. She had been right to think that the odd moment had shaken her. “This is my daughter, Christina,” she began the introductions. “Sweetheart, this is Miss. Wells, Rupert and Eleanor’s granddaughter.”

“Hello,” a small but determined voice piped up, followed by an offered hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

HG met nervous, dark eyes and felt that tugging again. She immediately felt her worries leave her. Acting on instinct, she bowed low, placing a chaste kiss on the back of the girl’s hand and eliciting a tiny giggle. “The pleasure is entirely mine, Miss. Bering. Dull were the lives we led before you graced us with your presence.” Still stooped in her bow, her head lifted and she winked mischievously.

Christina made another small sound of amusement while her Mama smiled and rolled her eyes at the inventor’s antics.

Helena pulled a chair around the circular table and sat close to the two visitors. She felt the new magnetic pull from Myka but didn’t dare meet her eyes again. Not yet. She kept her focus on the girl, whose company provided a definite sense of calm.

“How are you enjoying your stay, Miss. Bering? Are the gardens to your liking?” Helena oozed charm, hoping that her efforts would impress the girl’s mother on some level.

Myka closed her eyes briefly, letting Christina and Helena’s voices wash over her, for a moment, allowing her to imagine being back at home. As the conversation moved passed pleasantries, the eight-year-old began to express her love of the planets and stars, and her wish that she could some day visit them.

“When we build a tree house in my garden, I’m going to pretend it’s a rocket. What do you think I’m going to name it?” Having moved to her own chair, Christina now knelt, her dress bunching up in peculiar places as she leant over the table, monopolising Helena’s attention.

Fascinated, HG laughed to herself and sat back to give the question some thought. “Well, it will have to be something adventurous and worthy of space exploration... Titus?”

The girl stuck her tongue out, clearly not happy with the suggestion, which made the inventor’s eyebrow rise high on her forehead and brought a chuckle from deep inside her Mama’s throat.

“I’ll take that as a no then. Icharus?” she tried again.

Christina’s head canted to one side, her expression thoughtful. “Hmm, not bad,” she acknowledged, nodding. “I’m thinking… ‘The Time Machine’,” she grinned, thinking of her mother’s reaction. “Since travelling through space is rather like a journey through the history of existence.”

This time it was Helena who laughed and Myka who rolled her eyes. Their gazes met and the American smiled warmly. HG felt that jolt of _something_ run through her again and looked swiftly back at the enigmatic child. Though the sensation was a little disconcerting, a pleased smile still tugged at the corner of her mouth.

The rest of the afternoon flew by as the two alternatively entertained and were entertained by Christina. Myka kept her eyes on her daughter, not wanting to make Helena any more uncomfortable but was aware of the other woman’s gaze drifting sporadically over her, at times lingering much longer than a cursory glance would suggest.

After dinner, where Christina insisted on Helena sitting next to her, the inventor appeared to hesitate as she was asked whether she would be staying for the evening.

“I think I shall take my leave,” she finally decided, though her tone suggested that she wasn’t happy with her choice. “I must prepare for our gathering after all.”

Having relaxed throughout the day, Myka felt her tension return with the reminder. “I don’t think I’m going to make much of an impression at this thing. I don’t usually worry much about what I’m wearing, but I don’t think I have anything fit for the company you’re inviting.”

“Then I know exactly what we shall do tomorrow,” Helena clapped her hands together, excited by the excuse to return the next day. “I shall take you out and the two of you shall have dresses fit for royalty.”

Annoyance warred with gratitude in Myka’s mind while Christina jumped up and down with jubilation at the prospect of a day’s shopping for pretty outfits. “Miss. Wells, something simple and not too showy would be enough. It’s just one gathering; we don’t need to be outfitted for the season.” She regretted the matching expressions of disappointment facing her, but stood her ground.

“Oh pish-tosh! Darling, you are much too attractive to hide behind plain fabrics and dull colours. Of course, you could always try on a pair of trousers. I dare say the look would suit you admirably. As for Christina, I think she’s behaved remarkably well under the trying circumstances and deserves a treat. What do you say?” She pouted ever so slightly, tilting her head to one side. Catching sight of the young girl attempting to emulate her, she exaggerated the move to comical effect.

“Fine!” Myka relented, throwing her hands in the air. She tried to be annoyed still, but the joy that followed her surrender washed away most of her ire.

HG stood, thanked the figures curled up on the couch for their company and made arrangements for their shopping trip the following morning. She left to make her farewells about the house but returned on a whim and poked her head through the doorway to the library.

“Oh, and Myka?”

“Yes?” the curly-haired brunette asked cautiously, wondering what other mischief the inventor could have up her sleeve.

“No more of this ‘Miss. Wells’ nonsense,” HG insisted, pulling a face as she repeated her own title. “It’s Helena, Darling.”

Myka nodded and watched her future bride-to-be with a feeling of intense relief and loss. Her fluctuating emotions had made the day long and arduous, but at the same time, she felt gratified for the opportunity to peek at a side of her lover she had never known.

Feeling Christina’s body become limp next to her, she realised that she wasn’t the only one who felt drained by the day’s activities. As she caught the distant sounds of HG’s departure, Myka placed a long kiss on the top of her daughter’s head and hugged her tighter.

“Well done, Sweetheart,” she praised softly.

“Did I do well?” Christina’s voice drifted towards the adult through a suppressed yawn.

Curious brown eyes stared up at Myka pleadingly and the agent felt her heart constrict uncomfortably. “You were perfect. I’m so proud of you.”

Seemingly satisfied, the young girl smiled tiredly and sank her head back into her mother’s shoulder.

Myka decided that it was time for them both to turn in and ushered her daughter from their cosy place, following her upstairs and saying goodnight to the household as they went.

* * * * *

Myka was awake and dressed early the next morning. She helped Polly tame Christina’s hair where she’d laid on it and chatted with the young maid about her family. When their task was complete, she thanked her and led Christina to the dining room where Eleanor was already situated with a cup of tea and several envelopes.

“Ah, good morning,” the lady of the house greeted the pair warmly, her keen eyes rolling over their attire. Christina skirted the table and said hello to the Wells’ matriarch with a hug, which was fondly returned. “I see you’re dressed for a day out. Are you off on an adventure?”

“We’re going shopping!” the eight-year-old announced with all her renewed energy and enthusiasm.

Eleanor’s surprised expression landed on Myka who appeared slightly guilty. “I made the mistake of mentioning our limited wardrobe to Helena and she insisted on taking us out to find something new for tomorrow night.”

Understanding lit up the other woman’s features and she nodded slowly. “I’ll have Thomas accompany you with the carriage,” she informed the time traveller. “Just don’t let Helena take control of everything. I know you can be firm when you want to be,” she warned her usually mild-mannered guest. “Once that girl has her head, you’ll find it almost impossible to rein her in.”

Myka smiled at the horse analogy and made a mental note to tell her lover once she was home.

A little way across town, Helena was cursing herself for having slept in. Arriving at her brother’s the night before, she had once again chosen to work instead of sleep, sequestering herself in the basement and tinkering until the early hours of the morning. Intending to sleep for just a short while before the planned outing, she ended up falling into a vivid dream where two women and a man were shouting orders at a group of well-organised town’s folk.

“Bugger!” she hissed as she ran around her room and stubbed her toe on the bedpost.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, she carried her shoes with her and hurried down the stairs. The hall chair provided a convenient place to perch as she pulled the slim-ankled shoes on and hastily laced them up, unconcerned with the impropriety of exposing part of her calf in a high-traffic area of the house.

“HG,” an amused male voice came from further down the entrance hall. A young man with a cheery expression approached and leant against the banister. “Where are you off to in such a hurry? Another secret trip? Do you want to be mistaken for a Judy? You know, people are beginning to talk, sister.”

“Let them,” Helena grumbled brazenly. “What do I care for their opinions?” But even as she said this, she recalled her mother’s warning and glanced at her brother’s concerned expression. With a long-suffering sigh, she ran a hand through her hair. “I’m meeting with Norrie’s guest to aid her acquisition of some appropriate garments for tomorrow’s gathering. Mother wished to clear up any hint of a scandal and I’m doing my part. Do you object?”

“Not at all, H.” He continued to stare at her, smiling knowingly. “Is she handsome?”

Helena rolled her eyes. Of course he would figure her out; she was practically screaming her eagerness to be with Myka already. “She is spoken for,” she responded as if that was the end of it. Charles’ expression told her that he didn’t believe her a jot.

He shrugged very slightly before moving to help his sister into her coat. “I suppose I shall have an answer tomorrow when we are introduced,” he teased. “I wonder how far the Wells’ charm will get me with her?”

“Don’t count your chickens, brother.” Helena glared instinctively and then kicked herself for giving him exactly what he wanted. Grumbling as Charles’ chuckle followed her from the house, the inventor stepped into the waiting carriage and hoped that her grandmother had laid aside some leftover breakfast.

Fluttering anticipation added to the churning in her stomach so that, by the time the driver had pulled up at their destination, she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep any food down. The last thing she wanted to do though was collapse with exhaustion in the middle of Harrods and having had very little sleep, the possibility of that happening was very real. Resigned, HG crept in through the servant’s entrance again.

Flag stone tiles accentuated the click of her heels as she entered but the sound was mostly lost in the hustle and bustle of the usual mid-morning flurry of activity. A strong smell of soap and blue permeated the steam-filled air from where sheets were already hanging on racks.

Seeing that the housekeeper was fortunately absent, Helena smiled at the remaining servants as she waltzed through the kitchen and liberated a slice of buttered toast and two boiled eggs. She loitered beside the oven, enjoying the residual heat after the frigid outdoors and ate as quickly as she dared while inspecting the huge laundry works, imagining the changes she could make to improve its efficiency.

Catching a warning glance from one of the younger delivery boys, HG heard the tell-tale sound of approaching danger. Smiling her thanks at the blushing lad, she wiped her hands on a nearby cloth and ducked out of the kitchen.

The dining room was empty as she wandered through in search of her shopping companions. Glancing at the clock on the mantel, she winced; she was over an hour late.

Sheepishly, Helena wandered from room to room looking for Myka and her daughter, becoming more and more concerned as each possible hideaway turned up another dead end. Eventually, she deigned to ask one of the maids and discovered that her quarry had taken to the garden after breakfast.

The sunroom led out onto the back patio, which was happily situated facing south but had been landscaped to provide logistical areas for both shade and full sun, to favour the extremes of winter and summer. Two trellis-led paths embarked in opposite directions, dwindling wisteria clutching to the diamond holes and creating an archway that promised discovery. Helena remembered with fondness the hours she had spent exploring this garden.

Keen hearing picked up the sound of a child’s laughter and HG immediately took off on the Westward path, her feet bringing her to a halt at the exit to a small copse surrounding a pond. On catching sight of her target, she froze there and simply watched.

Under the boughs of a willow, Myka perched on a blanket, a long wrapper covering her dress and a scarf framing her face and neck. She held her hands before her, clasped together as if protecting something precious, while a curious eight-year-old leant over, eager to see what she had.

A squeal of shock became a peal of laughter as the American opened her palms to reveal a muddy-green frog that, spying its escape, hopped undaunted onto Christina’s skirt and flopped back into the safety of the water with a satisfying ‘plop’.

Myka laughed unselfconsciously, the genuine emotion reaching deep inside Helena and squeezing once more, making her reach for a hand-hold as her knees became weak. She watched as Christina threw herself at her mother in retaliation and felt a wide smile pull at her mouth.

Falling. She was falling. And there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Beside the pond, Myka held a giggling girl with both arms, smiling into soft waves as Christina wriggled and pretended to escape. They tussled for a short time before both gave up and bright, brown eyes gazed down with excitement at the prone adult.

“You’re silly, Mama,” the young girl declared breathlessly.

“You don’t like frogs?” Myka asked with faux surprise. “All this time, I thought you painted your room green so you could pretend to be a frog.”

Renewed giggling filled the air. “No! It’s green for your eyes,” she responded matter-of-factly, missing her Mama’s sudden misty-eyed expression.

Hearing the crunch of gravel under feet, two pairs of eyes glanced up to see the tardy inventor approaching. Myka wiped at her tears surreptitiously as she scrambled up from the ground and brushed the bracken from her clothes.

“Helena!” Christina leapt at the new arrival, eliciting an exaggerated ‘oomph!’ “You’re late,” she admonished boldly.

Wrapping an arm around the girl’s shoulder, HG led her back to the house, assuming that the American would follow. “The perils of a late night and peculiar dreams,” she whispered as if it were a dire secret. “Regardless, I am here now so let’s away.”

After waiting for the curly-haired woman to exchange her wrapper for a more appropriate coat for public viewing, Helena led them to the waiting carriage. She was painfully aware that Myka was less than ten yards behind her the whole way and that she had not yet acknowledged the other woman’s presence.

She couldn’t shake off the intense knee-jerk reaction she’d had at the sight of the woman playing with her daughter. She already knew that Myka was nothing like any other woman she’d ever met. Any of her mother’s friends, or well to do women she’d grown up with, all had nannies to see to their children. Indeed, if it hadn’t been for her grandmother, her own upbringing would have bordered on torture; forced to sit, sew, paint, read, write and above all, behave. Yet here was this intelligent, beautiful stranger who spent most of her waking hours teaching, talking to and even playing with her daughter. It was unheard of. Myka defied convention in a way Helena had never given much thought to before and the effect was intoxicating.

Even as she knew she could not avoid talking to the woman all day long, HG gave no eye-contact as they piled into the hansom-cab, driven by Thomas, and sat with Christina between them to act as a buffer. She could feel those green eyes on her, analysing her every move and as the cab took them closer to their destination, she grew increasingly more stubborn in her refusal to break the silence between them.

Myka smiled to herself, shaking her head at the inventor’s obvious avoidance. Initially, she had been puzzled and hurt by this complete about-turn from the previous day’s attentiveness, but as she watched Helena fidget and replayed the scene HG must have witnessed by the pond, she thought she had the reason sussed.

Forgetting for a moment their temporal dilemma, a surge of warmth flowed through her at the idea that Helena could be falling for her even now. At this time, when she was apparently care-free and resistant to the idea of committing to any one person, she was showing all the signs of someone who felt cupid’s pull and struggled against it.

In her excitement, the eight-year-old couldn’t keep still, alternating between one side of the cab and the other, peering curiously out of each side. Helena chuckled while Myka closed her eyes and placed a hand over her stomach.

“Sweetheart, I know you’re happy to be leaving the house, but will you please sit still?” the brunette asked as the swaying of their vehicle finally started to get to her.

An initially irritated expression became concerned as Christina took a good look at her Mama and complied. “Sorry. Are you alright, Mama?” she asked guiltily.

The American smiled through her clenched teeth, patting the girl’s hand as she willed the sudden nausea away.

Sensing the change in the atmosphere, Helena forgot about her own issues for a moment, took a quick look at the area they were passing and made a snap decision. She allowed the carriage to travel another hundred yards or so before leaning out of the window a little. She tapped on the side of the cab and asked Thomas to turn into a side road and stop.

Green eyes snapped open in surprise but quickly became relieved as they pulled up at the side of the road. Helena was suddenly next to her, offering her a hand to help her out. She took it gratefully, enjoying the all too brief texture of the other woman’s skin and felt her insides calming as she stepped down onto the street, appreciating the solid ground beneath her.

“Thank you,” she said as she automatically reached for Christina’s hand.

Helena felt her naturally chivalrous nature take over, her childish need to avoid her feelings almost entirely gone in the face of Myka’s distress. “Are you ill? Would you prefer we turn back?”

“I’ll be fine,” Myka dismissed the concern, beginning to feel awkward. _Did Eleanor tell her? Does she know I’m pregnant?_ “It’s just a bit of motion sickness from the rocking. Do we have much further to go?” she enquired, looking around the decidedly less busy street they were in.

HG appeared for a moment as if she wanted to protest but thought better of it. “We are here,” she announced. “I had thought to take you to Harrods to make a day of it but now that I think better of it, I’m not entirely sure that you would enjoy the kind of attention one usually expects there. It is a place for the rich and insecure to go to feel good about themselves.” She finally smiled as she met Myka’s gaze. “You strike me as the sort of woman to whom the opposite is true.”

Myka blushed slightly and looked down at her daughter to hide the pleased expression in her eyes. “Where are you planning to take us then?”

Stepping around her companions, HG stood next to Christina and took her hand. “Just across the street, my dears.”

They dodged horses and skirted manure, making their way across to a shabby looking shop front. The peeling paint on the sign was just legible from the front step and Myka looked up to read _Mrs. Faraday’s – Tailor for all needs._ A smaller sign in the window listed some of the services available and the time-traveller caught the announcement that one could purchase women’s work trousers before Helena ushered them inside.

The tinkling of the bell heralded their entry and Myka felt Christina’s hand tighten in hers. Inside, the dirt caked on the windows prevented any light penetrating the glass so that every lamp had to be lit to allow the customers to see.

Several mannequins littered the tight space, though why anyone would choose to shop here after seeing the faded, dusty material on display, Myka wasn’t sure. Upon closer inspection, she conceded that they must have been quite lovely when they were new; the good quality of the dresses was apparent, even in this dismal place.

“How does a place like this make enough money to keep the lights on all the time?” the brunette wondered aloud. “Wait...” She looked closer at the lamps and noticed for the first time the lack of odour in the air. “They’re not running on gas or oil.” She turned to the inventor, who appeared smug.

“They’re being lit by a current run through wires to a tantalum filament, powered from a generator in the basement.” She seemed about to launch into a lengthy explanation when the sound of hard heels on floorboards interrupted.

All three customers turned toward the sound and watched as a figure emerged from the base of a set of stairs. A buxom blonde with bright blue eyes and a tiny waist stepped into the room and greeted HG with a kiss on each cheek.

“Helena, it’s been too long since your last visit!” the shop owner declared with a clear musical lilt to her voice.

As this unknown woman grasped the raven-haired inventor’s hands with her own and held her close, she admonished her for her long absence. Myka noted critically that ‘Mrs. Faraday’ was at least an inch shorter than her future fiancée and appeared to have a habit of leaning too close, pushing her amble bosom against Helena’s own modest chest without shame. _Why doesn’t Helena push her away?_ Myka felt her teeth grind together for an entirely different reason. When the two separated, she was pacified marginally by the colour rising on the taller woman’s cheeks as she glanced quickly between Myka and the blonde.

“Lucile, I do hope you are not too busy today as we have a rather urgent wardrobe dilemma.” HG gestured to her companions. Her hands still held Mrs. Faraday’s but almost as if they were to keep the woman at arms’ length without offending her. “My friends here require gowns for tomorrow evening and possibly a few other items appropriate for future formal and informal gatherings.”

“The usual quid pro quo?” the blonde asked in an aside, causing Helena’s eyes to widen a fraction too far for Myka not to read into the question.

HG coughed. “Grandmother is paying.”

Lucile seemed to assess the inventor’s honesty, her gaze jumping briefly to the curly-haired woman she’d brought with her. “A shame, but you can take a look at the _improvements_ you’ve added to my shop while you’re here.”

“Certainly,” Helena conceded, finally breaking contact and returning to Myka’s side. “Lucile will take care of you both. Her skills are quite far and beyond most tailors. She’ll have you looking fit for a ball in a trice.”

Myka tried to put a cap on her jealousy; she couldn’t blame her future partner for having had lovers almost a century before she was born, but to see them in the flesh, she couldn’t prevent the gut reaction. She couldn’t even tell Helena that she returned her interest, though at this point, if she could alter the timeline, she had inevitably already done so. What would it matter now?

Trying not to let her turmoil show in her expression, Myka nodded slowly, resigned to her immediate fate as a doll and pin cushion. “Let’s get on with it then.”

“Another fashion enthusiast I see,” Lucile commented sarcastically as she gestured for the tall brunette to follow her into the back.

“I would like a new dress,” Christina announced as she followed her mother. “I think they’re pretty.”

“Well said,” Mrs Faraday smiled at the youngster, completely ignoring the terse looks she was getting from the American. “Just for that, you shall get first pick.”

“Really!? I would like something longer, like Mama’s...”

Christina’s enthusiastic words faded as the three disappeared into the back of the shop where the majority of the merchandise was kept, leaving the inventor to her thoughts.

Stood on her own, in the middle of the cramped and dingy shop entrance, Helena ran both hands through her hair and blew out a long lung-full of relieved air. What had she been thinking bringing Myka here, of all places? _She was suffering,_ her inner voice reminded her. _You wanted to find the most efficient answer to the problem, without thinking on the consequences as usual._

Starting for the door to the basement, she thought about Myka’s behaviour and the unmistakable knowledge in her gaze; the brunette knew that there had been more than friendship between her and Mrs Faraday. Had Lucile’s overtures been so obvious? Helena didn’t think so. She couldn’t help thinking that no woman would come to that conclusion without prior experience. The fire in those magnetic green eyes had suggested disapproval on a personal level; jealousy and not disgust. The American had politely refused all her attempts at friendly intimacy thus far and yet, when someone else entered the picture, she left her careful detachment at the door.

What did that say about her relationship with her husband to be? Were they truly the match Myka claimed they were? Could he really be so liberal? Perhaps they had an understanding. Perhaps he too had leanings toward his own gender. Such arrangements were not unheard of if you knew the right people. Though where did that leave Helena?

Catching her own thoughts, Helena shook her head. She was reading too much into the situation. Myka was beautiful, intelligent and unconventional, exactly her type. It wasn’t surprising really that she was so attracted to the brunette, but where normally she would test the waters and move on if there was resistance or complete obliviousness, Myka’s confusing signals had her floundering.

It wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed.

“Bollocks. HG, she’s getting married and she hasn’t responded to any of your advances the way you wished she would.” She reached the generator in the basement and began a few basic precautionary checks before opening it up. “You would do best to nip this in the bud. These _feelings_ serve no one and will only cause you consternation.”

While the inventor tinkered in the basement, upstairs, Myka watched closely as Lucile took Christina’s measurements and chatted with the eight-year-old about fabrics and styles. She had to wonder what this woman’s story was. Her name suggested that she was married but there was no sign of a man about the shop. There was no sign of anyone frequenting the establishment other than their own small party, but why was that? The blonde clearly knew what she was doing and, assuming that it was her handiwork littering the front of the shop, had skills in the trade. Why was her business so run down and how had Helena come to know her? To know her so _intimately_?

Myka closed her eyes to try to organise her thoughts but only ended up imagining things that she really didn’t want to see. _You don’t even know that they were really talking about that_ , she scolded herself, feeling a stirring of insecurity. She couldn’t help thinking back to that day in Warehouse 13 when Helena had not so subtly hinted that she’d had more than her share of female lovers. _Don’t jump to the worst case, Mykes._

Hearing Pete’s voice in her head, Myka smiled to herself sadly. She missed her home, her family and mostly her fiancée. They were over a week into their stay in 1890 and each day she felt a little less confident that they would ever find a way home. The melancholy took hold of her sporadically, but mostly when Christina was showing signs of fatigue or they spoke about _their_ Helena.

It took a good hour before Lucile was finished with the young girl; half of that time being spent in debate about the best materials and colours. Myka sat by patiently, smiling when her daughter asked for her opinion and offering her judgement where necessary.

There was an awkward moment as the blonde declared that she had what she needed and ordered Myka over to the platform for her measurements. The agent still hadn’t forgiven the woman for her comment in the shop and found it difficult to maintain an air of polite indifference, but when she was asked to undress and Lucile’s blue gaze passed over her now obviously pregnant belly, she blushed.

“You will need gestation stays,” the tailor explained. “You’re fortunate to be carrying fairly low; it will make it easier to pull the waist in.”

“Not too tight,” Myka insisted. “I want to be able to breathe comfortably.”

A blonde eyebrow shot up. “You really don’t care much for fashion. It’s quite the thing, I hear, to fall faint from lack of breath. It shows your dedication to convention.”

Myka heard the teasing tone in the shopkeeper’s voice and felt a sense of boldness rise from within. “I think if I worried about what people thought of me, I would never have let Helena drag me into your shop.”

“Touché,” Lucile chuckled in a girly manner, very unlike HG’s lower, ever mischievous tone. “That you did allow her to _drag_ you in here suggest that you value her opinion and trust her judgement.”

Their eyes met and Myka read the insinuation behind those amused blue orbs. The agent’s eyes narrowed in warning. “Do you intend to fit me for a dress today or will I be going like this?” she asked acerbically, gesturing to her half-dressed state.

Unmoved, Lucile continued to flit around with her tape measure. “You would certainly turn a few heads,” she commented nonchalantly. “But I think you should give Miss Wells a fighting chance at least. She does love to think that she’s in control.”

Christina watched her Mama colour from the corner of her eye and frowned to herself. Adults had strange conversations sometimes; they said one thing but seemed to mean another. The pretty, blonde tailor appeared to be making polite conversation but whatever she was saying beneath her words, it was upsetting her Mama. Christina assumed that it had something to do with her Mummy.

“Mama, may I see what Helena’s doing, please?” the eight-year-old asked. Waiting for someone to be measured and fitted for clothing wasn’t nearly as interesting as having it done to herself.

Considering the question carefully, Myka looked at her daughter’s bored features and felt her pain; she had hated clothes shopping when she was a child and Tracy had needed new outfits. “Yes, Sweetheart,” she agreed softly. “Just be careful; Helena’s tinkering.” She caught brown eyes and a knowing glance passed between them; they were both well acquainted with the occasional HG Wells’ laboratory disaster.

“Ok, Mama.” Christina kissed her mother’s cheek and left the adults to their business.

“She’s delightful,” Lucile commented as the girl departed. “You and your husband must be very proud. I imagine she’ll be a great help when this one arrives.” She nodded towards Myka’s mid-section.

Deciding that she wasn’t going to get out of this conversation any time soon, Myka took a deep breath and resigned herself to providing vague answers to Mrs Faraday’s questions. Though this wasn’t the company she had expected to be wary of, she was cognisant of the fact that gossip always travelled at speed. She half expected to return to Eleanor’s behind news that she’d taken ill and had visited this rundown establishment to purchase her evening ware instead of a more respectable outlet.

If a few titbits would keep the blonde’s thirst for information satisfied then she could endure the polite interrogation for a short while.

Down in the basement, HG was deliberately taking her time working on the generator and wiring, and checking filaments. She had a small pile of parts that she intended to replace or improve but she was running out of things to do.

She had to assume that Lucile had finished with Christina and had moved onto Myka. Just the idea of the American in a state of semi-undress made her heart race and her palms sweat. Part of her very much wanted to join the women upstairs to get a sneak peek. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d done it. Knowing that Lucile had an uninhibited view, she also had a powerful urge to protect Myka’s modesty. Her thoughts were becoming more conflicted by the minute.

Just as she was beginning to lose her resolve, Helena caught the sound of small feet descending the stairs and smiled to herself in relief. Where Myka’s presence was marvellously torturous, Christina brought a sense of calm and comfort with her.

“Helena?” the eight-year-old’s voice called from the foot of the stairs.

“Over here, darling,” HG answered. “Come on in. Just mind the wires won’t you. I shouldn’t like to imagine what your mother would do to me if you took a fall.”

“I’ll be careful,” Christina reassured the inventor and she crept across the basement.

Two gas lamps were lit, casting an eerie yellow glow across the assemblage of machine parts. Christina was used to the seemingly random things her mother liked to tinker with and invent, but their basement at home contained a great deal more modern technology and less nuts and bolts.

“This looks like something from a gothic story,” she observed with fascination. “Like I imagined Dr Frankenstein’s laboratory.”

Listening to the interest in the girl’s clear diction, Helena was charmed. A stray thought flitted through her mind. She would want children if she could have one like this. “Your mother read The Modern Prometheus to you?”

“Oh yes, Mummy loves to read!” the girl cried without thinking, her attention drifting around the room.

“And your father? Does he enjoy reading too?” HG prodded gently. She felt slightly guilty for attempting to weed information out of the young girl, but felt compelled to learn something about Myka’s mysterious situation.

Suddenly realising that perhaps she shouldn’t say any more, Christina shrugged.

Nonplussed, Helena frowned. “He doesn’t like to read?”

Wracking her brain for a way around the question, Christina decided on a method both her mothers often used - vague answers and deflection. “Both my parents like to read. Did your parents read to you?”

Disappointed at the non-answer, the inventor returned to her work, keeping an eye on the eight-year-old as they talked. She described her upbringing with minimal bitterness; her father’s love of work taking him ever further from his children while her mother barely tolerated them. The nannies she had tormented into quitting until the only people who would agree to nurture her for any length of time were her grandparents. She complained about the inequality ingrained in their society, forgetting for quite some time who she was talking to.

“I apologise, Miss Bering.” Helena eventually stopped for breath and turned to find a serious expression gazing back at her. What would Myka think to her ranting within earshot of her daughter? “One does tend toward the dramatic when one’s passions are stirred.”

Christina’s head canted to one side in thought. It was refreshing to hear her Mummy talk without censure about serious issues. Too often her parents tried to sugar-coat the truth. “I agree,” she said boldly. “Working women pay taxes. They should be allowed to have a voice to agree on how money is spent. We also have to adhere to laws and live with the choices the government makes. It makes sense that women should be involved in the decision making process.”

Helena’s jaw dropped slightly. Never in her life had she heard a child orate so lucidly on political issues. “Is politics a regular topic for conversation in your household?”

Blushing, Christina hesitated. “My lessons cover many topics and sometimes we have debates. Did you go to school?” she deflected again.

Eyes narrowing suspiciously, the inventor considered whether to pursue her line of inquiry or allow the girl to sidetrack her again. Myka had done a good job of prepping her daughter with what she should and should not say. The question on Helena’s mind was - why?

Deciding that Christina didn’t deserve to be caught in the middle, HG fell into conversation about their favourite subjects and began to teach the girl some of the basic fundamentals of electricity and the race amongst scientist to develop more efficient lighting.

With an extra pair of attentive hands, the inventor had the machine back together and closed before a second pair of feet started on the stairs. Two sets of identical brown looked up curiously to find the tailor descending towards them. Christina stood and brushed down her skirt. She turned to offer her companion a hand up and almost fell, laughing when Helena pretended to struggle and became a dead weight.

“I thought you said that you were useless with children,” Lucile reminded HG as she approached and stood toe to toe with her raven-haired friend.

Helena reached up to scratch the side of her head as she considered the comment. She glanced at the girl and pulled her into a side-on hug. “Not this one apparently.”

Christina gazed up at her Mummy and felt that peculiar churning in her stomach again. She had a sudden urge to tell Mrs Faraday to go away so she could have her British mother all to herself for a while longer but then she thought of her Mama upstairs and sighed gently to herself.

“Your mother is changing back into her own attire. I’m sure she’ll appreciate your help with the buttons,” the shop owner commented in a tone that suggested it was an order.

Her Mummy’s arm tightened around her shoulders just enough that the girl knew there was something else to this exchange, another mysterious facet of adult behaviour that she wasn’t privilege to yet. Looking up, she caught HG’s nod of reassurance and reluctantly made for the stairs.

The blonde waited until the eight-year-old’s footsteps had completely faded before she smirked at her friend. “What are you getting yourself into this time HG?”

“I’m clueless to your meaning, Lucile.” Helena returned to tidying the debris from her work, avoiding eye contact with the tailor.

“Don’t play dumb. Somewhere, in that labyrinthine mind of yours, you hatched a plan; you brought them here to test Mrs Bering’s reactions to me.” Blue eyes followed the inventor’s movements, her smirk still in place. “It likely wasn’t even a conscious action on your part. You just cannot help yourself can you?”

Helena paused with an errant screw in her hand. She hated that Lucile apparently knew her so well. Had she really brought Myka here to see if she could make her jealous? The woman’s responses thus far were confusing. “If I did?”

Lucile shrugged daintily. “She is married. Not your type if I remember correctly. At least, I wasn’t your type until Ewart died.”

Sighing through her building irritation, HG found a scrap piece of cloth to wrap around the rubbish she’d collected and moved to stand defiantly in front of her friend. “My standards have changed. What is your point?” she demanded, saying nothing about the American not being married yet.

“Oh my dear, Helena,” the blonde muttered sympathetically. “Have you truly looked at this situation? She hides behind a dozen secrets and you’re falling into a pit of unknowns. Did you know that she’s with child?”

Helena buckled as if she’d been shot, her legs losing strength so that Lucile had to leap forward to catch her. _She’s expecting?_ Somehow, she’d overlooked the fact that the woman already had a child. Between her and Norie, they’d concluded that Christina was perhaps the result of the father’s previous marriage, hence the reason Myka was not yet wed. Stupidly, this thought had given her hope that the American was not completely attached to her husband to be.

“Like many things, she hides it well.” Lucile continued to explain. She worried about her friend. As intelligent as Helena Wells was, love was not something that logic and careful thought could defeat. She was not entirely selfless though, she had missed the inventor in her bed. “She won’t be able to keep it hidden for long though.”

Recovering from the news, HG shook her head. “Luce, I very much doubt that knowing this will make a difference,” she admitted.

The tailor nodded sadly. “I thought you might say that.”

“I’m sorry. I truly didn’t intend to hurt you.” Brown eyes held blue, conveying all the regret that she felt.

Lucile tried to smile. “That brilliant mind of yours runs away with you at times, I know.” She hesitated and then leant gradually forward to steal a slow kiss. She felt Helena return the familiar caress but managed to hold herself back from deepening it; she was hurting enough already. She had always known that their affair couldn’t last but had hoped that there might be a repeat performance somewhere in her future.

As the ex-lovers whispered their fond farewells, a figure stood frozen at the top of the stairs, her dark brown eyes wide with shock and confusion. Holding tight to her tears, Christina launched herself back from the disturbing scene and marched back to her Mama.

She wanted to go home.

She wanted to go home, now!


	11. Chapter 11

Christina climbed into the cab first, guessing that HG would help her Mama up and then she could sit far away from the inventor. As soon as Myka was on board, she grabbed the adult’s arm and buried her face in it.

She couldn’t get the image of her Mummy kissing Lucile out of her mind and though her Mama had asked her repeatedly to tell her what was wrong, she couldn’t, not in front of Helena.

Adventures were supposed to be fun, weren’t they? This one didn’t feel like that. In fact, as she thought about it, all _real_ adventures seemed to be more scary than fun. In Paris, Mummy had been scared. She remembered Helena’s hand holding her own tighter than usual and the panic in her mother’s eyes as they were figuring out how to rescue Mama. The incident at the fairground had been similar. Sitting, waiting for news and not knowing if everything would turn out ok. She remembered how uncomfortable that feeling was and felt it now.

Aunt Leena said that having new siblings was like an adventure. She thought about the arguments her parents had had recently and decided that perhaps babies weren’t as exciting as she’d assumed either. If having brothers or sisters was going to pull her family apart, she didn’t want them. It was too late now though and she couldn’t help feeling that Mummy and Mama might forget about her when the twins arrived.

The ride back to the Wells’ house was conducted in silence with Myka throwing the inventor concerned and accusatory glances and Helena looking hurt and puzzled by Christina’s behaviour.

On arrival, the eight-year-old excused herself and ran off to her room, leaving the adults alone. By this time, Myka thought she had figured out what happened. As Helena went to move towards the stairs in pursuit of the young girl, the American reached for her sleeve and held her back.

“What happened in the basement?” Myka asked quietly.

Looking uncomfortable, HG ran her hands through her hair. “I haven’t the foggiest,” she said automatically, though she had an inkling of what might have occurred. As Lucile had been kissing her, she had sensed movement at the top of the basement stairs. “I thought we were getting along swimmingly.”

Myka raised an eyebrow and enquired in a resigned sort of tone, “Nothing happened with Lucile when you thought you were alone?”

Helena’s surprised expression at the curly-haired woman’s guess quickly fell, betraying her answer. She met Myka’s gaze with a sinking feeling in her stomach. “I... I thought she was with you.”

Dropping her hand to her side, Myka nodded and slowly retreated. She ran a hand over her face, trying desperately not to let the inventor see how much the confession wounded her. “I’ll speak to her and try to explain.”

HG watched dismally as an underlying sadness filled those forest-green eyes. She shot forward, suddenly worried that she’d just lost any chance of keeping this woman in her life. “Myka. It was just a short farewell. What might have been is no more.”

Taking pity on the repentant woman, Myka moved closer and tried to adopt an understanding facade. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Helena. Who you spend your time with and what you do is your business. _You_ don’t owe me anything.” She swallowed down the urge to pull Helena into a hug. She felt her body pulling her in opposite directions; wanting to comfort the woman she loved but feeling slightly queasy after confirming her suspicions. “I’m sorry but I have to check on Christina.”

Leaving HG to think on her actions, Myka hurried upstairs and entered the room she shared with Christina. She spotted the girl curled up on the bed and felt her heart sink. Closing the door softly behind her, she made her way over to the bed and climbed up beside her daughter. As she sat back against the headboard and began stroking wavy locks, Christina turned over and buried a tear-stained face into her Mama’s side. Myka shuffled down on the bed so she could wrap her arms more fully around the small figure, shushing her gently as she waited for the tears to abate.

“Mama, I want to go home,” a small voice said joylessly.

Myka felt the lump in her throat tighten. She swallowed passed it as best she could. “So do I, Sweetheart, and we will eventually, I’m sure. Do you want to tell me about this afternoon?” she inquired tentatively, wanting to give the girl chance to open up in her own time.

Silence stretched for several minutes while Myka waited patiently, still running her fingers through soft hair, hoping to provide adequate comfort to the distraught child.

“I saw Mummy with the lady in the shop... Lucile,” Christina sniffed, her words sounding watery and tight.

When no other details were forthcoming, Myka decided to fill in the blanks. “You saw them kissing.” The small head nodded against her shoulder. “Oh, Sweetheart, I know it’s upsetting. I don’t like it either but Helena is a young woman who hasn’t found that one special person she wants to settle down with yet. Before I met your Mummy, I kissed other people too,” she admitted. “When you grow up, you might kiss different people, until you find your special someone. Try not to be angry with Helena; she didn’t mean to hurt either of us.”

“But you’re here, Mama,” Christina protested stubbornly. “You’re her someone special.”

Myka smiled sympathetically. The fire in those eyes reminded her of her fiancée when she was feeling indignant. It was comforting to know that a part of their HG was with her still. “I know that, but I don’t think Helena does yet. It’s difficult, Christina. I can’t tell Mummy that I love her because I don’t want to risk changing the timeline. You haven’t been born yet you know.”

“Does that mean Mummy has to kiss a man as well?” the girl added, her expression scrunched up in distaste.

Myka closed her eyes briefly. This conversation was entering waters that she wasn’t comfortable or familiar with. What on Earth was she going to do when Christina was old enough for ‘the talk’? “I think that might have already happened.”

Christina remained quiet for several long moments considering that statement. “You mean Mummy might be pregnant already... with me?”

The eight-year-old finally sat up, her face smudged where her tears had run tracks through a thin layer of accumulated dirt from the ride. She looked down in shock and confusion.

Myka lifted a hand to push a lock of hair behind the girl’s ear. She wanted to be doing anything but having this conversation; this was _her_ child, not his, whoever he was. “It’s possible. It’s 1890. You were... will be born in 1891.” She watched the wheels turning behind brown eyes.

“I might see my father,” Christina concluded eventually. “Do I have to talk to him?” she asked uncertainly.

It took some effort for Myka to push herself into a sitting position; the events of the day and the early morning added to her fatigue. “Christina, in all likelihood, we won’t even know who he is, but if more information does come to light then it will be entirely up to you. If you want to get to know your father, I will help you in whatever way I can. I will be there with you, for as long as you need me.”

Christina sank back down onto the bed covers, her arms circling the adult. Her tummy still hurt. She felt as if her family was falling apart around her and she could do nothing to keep it together. “I have you, I don’t need a father.”

Something resembling a mix of relief, pride and contentment filled Myka at those words. “And I have you,” she repeated. “You will always be my little girl. Even when our home is full of the sounds and smells of babies,” she added, voicing a concern that had been simmering below the surface for some time. “When Mummy and I are cranky and everything feels like chaos, I don’t want you to ever think that you can’t come and do this with me. Ok?” She felt those fading insecurities raise their heads again as she looked down into a worried expression.

Christina wondered how her curly-haired mother had known what was on her mind. A tentative ray of hope broke through the gloom of her dark thoughts. “You won’t be too busy?”

There it was, Myka thought; confirmation that looming changes to their lives weighed heavily on other minds than her own. “I imagine that we’ll all be busy. Do you remember what it was like when we visited Aunt Tracy’s?”

“Mm-hm,” the girl nodded, clinging tighter to Myka as she tried to picture the same atmosphere in their home.

The agent took her daughter’s hand and placed it together with her own atop her rounded belly. “These two will rely on us to do everything for them until they begin to learn how to do things for themselves. I have no doubt that they will love their big sister and your help is going to be invaluable to Mummy and me. I just want you to know that it’s ok for you to need us too.”

“So will I still get bedtime stories?” Christina asked uncertainly.

“Of course,” Myka chuckled even as a part of her ached at the innocent question. “You might have to occasionally settle for one of us at a time. Thankfully, babies need a lot of sleep so there will be times when Mummy and I have both arms free to wrap around you.”

* * * * *

Evening the following day arrived faster than Myka was comfortable with. She stood in her room, wearing the gown Lucile’s courier had delivered that afternoon, waiting for Polly to finish putting her hair up.

Christina seemed mostly recovered from the previous day’s trauma. True to her benevolent nature and thanks to the conversation she’d had with Myka, she had largely forgiven Helena for her indiscretion and deigned to bid her goodnight when the raven-haired woman left. Now, she was full of excitement again for the dress she had been wearing the past two hours.

“It’s just the right length to make me look older, but not too much older,” Christina was regaling the maid with the benefits of her attire. “The ruffles and taffeta match Mama’s but keep her looking mature and me still like a child. The tailor knows her fashion.”

Myka saw the faraway expression in the maid’s eyes. “Christina. Why don’t you see if you can help Mrs Wells? It won’t be long before your bed time.”

“I still have a bed time? But it’s a party,” the eight-year-old protested.

“And last time I looked, you were still my child,” Myka informed her firmly. “I don’t mind you staying up a bit later, just this once,” she added calmly. “But I still expect you to be in bed by ten.”

“Mama, I don’t think that’s fair,” Christina grumbled. “When will I be allowed to stay up late?”

“When you’re twenty-one,” Myka said, deadpanned.

Polly smiled but held her amusement well. “Miss Bering; I’ve seen these events many times. Believe me, you will be relieved when you’re released to go to bed.”

Christina wasn’t convinced, but thought longer on the maid’s comment. There would be no other children present and her grandmother Genevieve would be making an appearance at some point. She thought back to a time before America and the family that now doted on her. Other than her Mummy, Charles and one or two of the maids, most adults hadn’t wanted to know that she was there. Perhaps Polly was right. Still, there would be entertainment in admiring all of the dresses.

Most of the evening’s pleasantries were to take place in the drawing and dining rooms. Eleanor was treating the gathering as a practise run for New Year’s, joking that she was behind with her contributions to the social machine so she should be excused for her out of season event. There was to be a sit down meal at seven, after which they would all congregate in the drawing room to socialise, and at some point in the evening, Rupert would lead the men away to partake in his stock of brandy and cigars, leaving the women to their business.

Myka was to be introduced as the wife of one of Mr Wells’ prospective business partners who was aiding him with research to expand his business overseas. She was to tell people that an unfortunate incident had detained her husband and she’d been forced to travel alone to meet with Mr Wells. On arrival in London, she’d somehow got turned around, panicked when the officials had approached her and was indebted to Mr Wells for his timely intervention.

Knowing that her believability rested on her performance tonight, Myka was nervous. She had always hated social gatherings, feeling awkward with nothing to say to people that she had nothing in common with. Tonight would be no exception, only this time she had script to help her along. She only hoped that she wouldn’t say anything inappropriate and start the scandal they were trying to prevent.

Guests began to arrive at around half passed six. Rupert and Eleanor’s long-standing friends, Mr and Mrs Eustace Pickering were escorted into the room, where the lord and lady of the house greeted them, Myka by their side and Christina holding onto her mother’s hand.

“Eustace,” Rupert grasped his friend’s hand and shook it firmly. “How are you old boy? How are the northerners treating you up in York?”

“Fair, Rupert. They’re not all as uncivilised as we were led to believe.”

“Jolly good. Eleanor and I were delighted to hear that you were in town...”

Myka smiled at the familiar camaraderie between the two couples. Seeing their easy friendship allowed her to take the smallest breath of relief.

At Genevieve’s invitation, the next couple arrived with their disagreeable looking son and a bit of that tension returned to the agent’s muscles as she was assessed by the mother’s critical eyes, ignored by the father’s and ogled by their offspring’s. She remained polite, inclining her head towards the floor and dropping her knees in imitation of a curtsey as Eleanor had instructed, and thanked them for coming on such short notice.

The evening had barely begun and she was exhausted already but there was a trio of guests still expected.

* * * * *

In her parents’ carriage, boxed in by her mother and brother, Helena felt conflicted. Too many thoughts careered around her brain, crashing into one another and gaining momentum.

She was content being single and carefree; ignoring the expectations of her peers and elders; living for science, adventure and the prospect of leaving her mark (and her name) on the world. No matter how close she had come to feeling more than transient emotions for a lover, she had never felt a desire to cross that line and change who she was.

Until now.

Was this how it started? Love? Were these insidious and persistent thoughts the sign of insanity or just a malfunction of her ability to control her consciousness? That was the only word she could really think of to describe the absolute distraction and frustration she’d experienced over the past forty-eight hours - insanity. Two days ago, her thoughts had been her own. Now, it was as if the rhythm of her pulse whispered a woman’s name to her over and over. My-ka... My-ka... My-ka.

What had begun as the occasional drifting impression of curls, green eyes and a gently absorbing smile had turned into daydreams, wishes and pointless hope.

The woman was getting married for God’s sake! She had a daughter and another child on the way. Regardless of how distant the father of those children was, he was a very real obstacle to all of the images of a possibly future with Myka Bering.

Irritation jumped across her mind, souring her mood further. It was idiotic to harbour any notion of a relationship with the relative stranger, yet she couldn’t prevent her thoughts drifting in that direction.

What if there was no Mr Bering? Could there be a chance for them? Likely not in London but perhaps a suburb, where there was less pressure on them to appear amongst the populace and they could pass themselves off as closer friends who were simply passed the point of marriage; a spinster and a widow. A country house possibly? Somewhere they could embrace by the fire and not concern themselves with nosy passers-by. Winters would see them always seeking one another out to battle the cold unless her ingenuity and engineering skills could find new ways to heat their home. Their lives might have to be simple and recluse but they could be happy... together.

She would miss the Warehouse of course. Could she still track curiosities while tied to a family? Be an agent? What would Myka think to the world of hidden magic? Agents were permitted to bring one person into their confidence. Would she be intrigued, excited, afraid? Would she want Helena to give it all up or be happy to let her pursue the life she loved?

It was as the carriage turned into the street where her grandparents lived and the carriage rocked over a particularly large bump that HG realised she was at it again; letting her mind drift off at an impossible tangent, ignoring the reality that was staring her in the face.

_Utterly ridiculous. You’re behaving like one of those ingénues at court when faced with a prospective husband; simpering and brainless._

“Helena,” Mrs Wells’ voice broke through the inventor’s self-admonishment. “I trust that this mood you’re in will have dissipated by the time we are inside. Regardless of how your grandmother allows you to behave, I will not tolerate you embarrassing this family. Do I make myself clear?”

“Your concern is as overwhelming as ever, Mother.” Helena rolled her eyes in Charles’ direction, not wanting to give Genevieve reason to poke at her further. “Rest assured that I shall endeavour to respond to others with the manner in which I am addressed.” _In other words,_ she thought to herself. _I will not sit quietly by while your acquaintances try to insult me._

They pulled up and the footman helped the two women down, stopping for a brief word with Mrs Wells before stepping back up into the cab and driving away. Herbert, the butler, greeted them at the door and led them to where their party was gathered. Seeing the people already congregated, Helena knew that they were the last ones to arrive, as her mother had no doubt planned. Genevieve Wells was never late for an appointment but where possible, she would time her entrance for the best possible effect, allowing the guests already mingling to notice her.

Without conscious thought, HG sought out the American, her eyes barely needing time before they landed on a head of tamed curls and met forest green. She felt a flush fill her cheeks and turned away, her heart pounding its new rhythm.

Had Myka been looking out for her? She almost smiled and then immediately clamped down on the idea, willing the thought away.

She watched through her peripheral vision as the tall woman graciously excused herself from her conversation with Mrs Pickering and squared her shoulders for the last introductions of the evening. HG instantly wished that she could see what Myka was thinking. How did she feel about meeting the woman who had insisted on this evening? Who would have preferred to see her left on the street?

After fond greetings to their grandchildren, the hosts turned their attention to their temporary resident and her daughter, who were both now standing unobtrusively beside them.

“As you no doubt have noticed,” Rupert began to his son’s wife, his jovial edge tempered just enough to make him sound friendly but not excessively so. “We have two lovely new guests with us this evening. Allow me to introduce to you, Mrs Myka Bering and her daughter, Miss Christina Bering. Mrs Bering, these are my daughter-in-law Mrs Genevieve Wells, my grandson Mr Charles Wells and my granddaughter, who you’ve already met, Miss Helena Wells.”

Genevieve nodded her thanks to Rupert and the older couple left them to converse as they saw to their other guests. There was a moment of uncertainty before Mrs Wells turned her attention on Myka. “Mrs Being, I understand from my daughter that your husband encountered some sort of problem with his business associates abroad and that this is the reason for his not accompanying you here.”

“Mother,” Helena hissed. “Is interrogating Mrs Being really necessary?”

“Our family’s welfare rests on the success of your grandfather, father and brother’s businesses. We should feel duty bound to ensure that their contacts remain reputable. Do you not agree?” Her sharp gaze pinned Helena to the spot, her expression warning her daughter not to interfere. “Surely you understand my concern, Mrs Bering?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Myka responded with a forced air of fearlessness. “We were delayed by gendarmes at Calais. A mistranslation caused an incident at the factory and the authorities were called in. My George was asked to help untangle the situation and felt obligated to go. As it means so much to Mr Wells’ business, he sent me ahead to convey his sincerest apologies and assurances that his interests are being taken care of.” She maintained her facade until Mrs Wells nodded and seemed to accept the lie.

“He feels that you are adequately qualified to conduct his business affairs?” the stern Victorian pushed.

“Yes Ma’am, he trusts that I can keep correspondences moving until his return,” Myka continued, hating the lie as it left her mouth and left a frown on the inventor’s forehead.

Nodding as if she was satisfied for now, Genevieve brought the conversation to an end. “His decisive action does you credit, Mrs Bering.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. You are very gracious.” Myka inclined her head, ostensibly as a sign of respect but in reality, she just needed a second without seeing that hard gaze. Realising again that her fiancée had spent the early part of her life under the pressure of this woman’s inflexible expectations, she felt a surge of fondness and respect for Helena.

Rupert coughed to gain their attention and announced that dinner would be served momentarily in the dining room. He approached Mrs Pickering, escorting her as his wife followed with Mr Pickering. The remaining guests followed with Myka and Christina bringing up the rear, behind the sour faced young man.

At opposite ends of the table sat the elder Mr and Mrs Wells. To Rupert’s left, Mrs Pickering and her husband, followed by Clarence Spencer, Mrs Spenser and Mr Spenser. To his right, Charles, Mrs Genevieve Wells, Helena, Myka and finally Christina. The moment they were all settled and a smattering of polite small talk began around the table, servants began to appear with the first course.

About five minutes into the meal, Christina realised Polly had been right about her estimation of the evening’s events. As if from a previous life, memories of dinners at her grandparents’ sprang to mind and reminded her of long, tedious evenings spent in their company. She and her Mummy were never invited with other guests around; dinners were always family affairs, but nevertheless, they were tense and seemingly never ending. She had much preferred the gatherings at Uncle Charles’ when Mummy was home.

Christina looked up at her Mama and couldn’t help but notice how stiffly she held herself. She felt bad for her curly-haired mother but at the same time, she was relieved that she wasn’t the only one feeling out of place. Without thinking, she put a hand of the adult’s elbow, drawing her attention.

Myka leant towards her daughter, automatically giving the eight-year-old her undivided attention. “Christina?” she prompted.

“We will be alright, Mama,” the girl reassured the adult, her voice just above a whisper.

Smiling at her daughter’s bravery and concern, the American squeezed the eight-year-old’s hand gently. Though she wanted to offer more in the way of comfort, somehow she knew that this wasn’t a conversation they could have in present company. “Of course,” she said simply, hoping that the girl would listen to her non-verbal communication just as closely as her words.

Returning her attention to the table, the time-traveller was relieved to see that no one other than Eleanor appeared to have noticed the brief exchange with her daughter. Most attention focussed at the other end of the table, where Rupert was in mid-flow with his grandson.

Preferring only to speak when spoken to, Myka remained fairly quiet throughout the meal. Eleanor had a knack for rescuing her from awkward questions and Helena ran interference with her mother, giving Genevieve a constant target for her endless stream of back-handed complements. On the surface, it was a congenial meal, with conversation that by design never drifted to uncomfortable topics, but beneath the polite smiles and comments about the weather was an undercurrent of concealed disapproval.

It wasn’t until they returned to the drawing room and the men disappeared with Rupert that the reason for that tension reared its ugly head. Apparently, Mrs Spenser was a childhood friend of Mrs Genevieve Wells and was present at the latter’s request. The moment Mrs Spenser opened the subject of husbands and inappropriate behaviour with Helena, Myka knew that she’d made the right decision to send Christina off to the nursery to play for a short time before bed.

“Eligible young men will not remain available to a woman with a reputation for being disagreeable, Miss Wells. I dread to think what your poor mother suffers in trying to find you a match.” Mrs Spenser had cornered Helena the moment the men were gone and, even from across the room, Myka could see HG’s jaw clench with the effort to keep her temper in check. “My son wants a wife who will care for him and look out for his best interests while he keeps the family estate. I’ve no doubt that other mothers want the same for their sons. If you have any sense, you will take pains to curb your wild behaviour and secure a husband while you are still attractive enough to draw a man’s attention. Four and twenty is after all not far from the point of no return and I’m sure you don’t wish to remain a burden to your parents or your poor brother.”

Feeling as if smoke may as well be pouring from her ears, HG tried to breathe through her anger. _Does she ever come up for air?_ Her inner voice asked in the midst of the lecture. The expression of superiority on Mrs Spenser’s face, coupled with the warning glares from her mother and she remained on edge. She was certain that it was only the compassion behind soft, green eyes that kept her from exploding. “With respect, I do not share the view that a woman must be married to consider herself secure or successful. There are people, movements within society, who are working with the aim of challenging those views and I say it’s about time.”

“Helena,” Genevieve’s voice cut through the chatter, pulling Eleanor and Mrs Pickering’s attention from their stories of old. “We can manage quite well without the politics I think.”

“I believe I am entitled to a say in my own affairs,” HG shot back.

A pregnant pause broke when Mrs Spenser decided to pull the young American into the conversation. “What is your opinion on the matter, Mrs Bering? You must see the practicalities of marriage. Tell Miss Wells how she would be better off giving up all this nonsense and settling down with a nice young man. She could be running her own house and have children of her own within a year or two,” she added as if that sealed the deal.

Feeling like a deer caught in the headlights, Myka wracked her brain to come up with something that would pacify this woman without agreeing with her. “I understand Miss Wells’ feeling on the subject. We don’t all find happiness in the same goals,” she began, catching a hint of gratitude behind familiar eyes. Thinking of home, she continued. “I was lucky to fall in love with someone who wants to listen to my opinions and, for the most part, shares my views. We are not just partners in marriage; we are partners in life.” Without saying anything for or against Helena needing to surrender to convention, Myka hoped that she had said enough to be exempt from further comment.

Both older women frowned at the response but they did allow the topic did slide haltingly into a general chitchat about children and then somehow onto the latest fashions at court. Myka managed to manoeuvre herself closer to Eleanor and noticed Helena do the same while her mother conspired with Mrs Spenser across the room.

HG remained subdued throughout the remainder of the evening, her gaze focussed inward, bar the occasional glance at the curly-haired mother to be.

Without needing to be a mind-reader, Myka knew that Helena’s thoughts were processing her words and her seemingly perfect relationship with her husband, who the inventor must now believe her to be in love with. She felt horrible for being the one to put that look on her face but perhaps it was for the best. After all, she couldn’t actually let her know the truth, could she?

 


	12. Chapter 12

Dawn brought with it a grey and miserable start to a new day. At the breakfast table, Myka suppressed yet another yawn and wished she had managed to bully her brain into shutting down the previous evening. As it was, the memory of Helena’s hurt and conflicted expression after dinner haunted her well into the early hours of the morning, leaving her lethargic and guilt ridden.

To make the morning even more angst filled, a missive arrived for Eleanor just as she was preparing to retire to her study and judging by the look she threw Myka, the agent knew that it was about Helena.

“Christina, you go ahead to the nursery. I’ll catch up with you; I just need to speak with Mrs Wells.” She barely glanced at the girl, such was her rush but the tone of voice that followed her gave her pause.

“But I thought you said that today was going to be for us?” The girl’s face crumpled, tears magnifying her dark eyes.

Myka turned to find tracks running down cheeks and a bottom lip stuck out as far as it would go before it could become comical. “Oh, Sweetheart.” She immediately turned back and pulled the girl into her arms. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one suffering after their late night. “Today is absolutely all about us. You’re right,” she realised aloud. Guilt, disappointment and frustration warred for dominance within her. What was in that letter? “I’m sorry. Let’s head upstairs and you can show me exactly what you want to do today.” She helped to wipe away any remaining tears and let her daughter lead her to the schoolroom.

“Grandma Elle said that I could play with some of Mum... Helena’s old toys.” Despite the slip of the tongue, Christina’s face brightened. “There are simply hundreds of building blocks. I thought we could build a super-structure!”

“Grandma Elle?” Christina nodded with enthusiasm and Myka decided that the question was better suited for the Wells matriarch herself. “Ok,” she chuckled, reaching for one of the aforementioned building materials. “Where shall we start?” She looked around, eyeing up the space and wondering just how big this ‘super-structure’ would be. To her surprise though, the block disappeared from her hand and two disapproving eyes gazed up at her.

“Mama, we have to design it first,” the girl insisted as if it should have been obvious.

“Of course, how silly of me.” Myka playfully rolled her eyes and within half an hour, the thought of that letter and its contents were wedged firmly in the back of her mind.

By lunchtime, the sketches were declared acceptable by the boss and they began construction on the foundation. Remembering her own childhood when she and Tracy were forced together and the arguments she’d had with her sister over the sorts of games they should play, Myka realised that she would have thoroughly enjoyed spending time with a girl like Christina. She wondered briefly if Helena had preferred more logistical pastimes as a child and then kicked herself as she remembered whose toys they were playing with. Had HG been born in the twenty first century instead of the nineteenth, she would no doubt have wanted a chemistry set, Lego, Mechano, a potato clock and all manner of geeky toys. The American smiled softly to herself as she tried to picture the scene and in the back of her mind, she began thinking about the coming year’s stocking fillers.

That was, if home was still there when they were finally allowed to go.

These dark, pessimistic thoughts broke through her resolve from time to time, making her doubt the conclusions she had reached with Caturanga. It did her little good to dwell on them so she tried hard not to but the weight of them affected her anyhow.

Thankfully, a day spent at the beck and call of an eight-year-old left little time to think and before either of them knew it, Myka was rolling up their blue-prints and insisting that they call it a day.

“Just one more layer of bricks,” Christina’s tired, whiny tone filled the space between rooms as Myka poked her in the direction of the WC. “Please?”

Chuckling, the agent stopped and knelt down to eye level. “You are falling asleep on your feet. I’m sure we’ll have time after your lessons tomorrow to build some more.”

Disapproval glared through a heavy frown. “I don’t like lessons. They’re not the same.”

“I know,” Myka responded sympathetically, knowing that Christina was referring to the lessons she had with Helena back at home. She rubbed her hands up and down short arms as she searched for a solid reason for the girl to continue to focus on her schoolwork. Since Myka had needed to be in consultation with the regents and the Warehouse a fair bit, Eleanor had hired a temporary tutor for Christina. “Would you like it if your teacher and I alternated? I don’t think there’s much for me to do for the Warehouse at the moment,” she suggested, whispering the last bit.

Brown eyes lit up, chasing the frown away. “Yay!” she shouted, causing a raised eyebrow from a passing chambermaid. “Will you start tomorrow?” she added hopefully.

“I think it’s a little late in the day to be cancelling Ms Thorne.” Myka stood and encouraged Christina to start moving again. “But how about I do the two days after that so long as I’m not needed anywhere?”

The eight-year-old’s disappointment was brief as she began thinking about those two days and planning the lessons they would have. Ms Thorne was much nicer and smelled better than the tutor she’d had when she was living at Uncle Charles’, but the subjects were dull and she’d had no luck in getting the woman to deviate from her timetable. Mama would make their learning fun, she just knew it!

After seeing her daughter through her ablutions and reading her into a state of semi-sleep, Myka crept out of their bedroom and walked off with the sole purpose of finding Eleanor. Now that she was free from her parental duties for the evening, the morning’s mail was on her mind again.

She found the older woman in her library, perched in her favourite chair, reading The Picture of Dorian Grey. Hating to disturb someone when they were enjoying a good book, Myka hesitated in the doorway. Just as she decided that she could wait until the following morning, a voice beckoned her closer.

“I thought you’d be paying me a visit before the end of the day,” Eleanor’s voice cracked with amusement as she indicated to her young visitor to take a seat. “That child of yours must be awfully persuasive to keep you away.”

“I promised I would spend the day with her, no distractions, and no excuses.” She smiled. “She certainly knows how to make the most of a promise.”

“And so do you I think,” Mrs Wells nodded her approval before reaching into the pocket of her dressing gown. “I believe _this_ is what you’re looking for.” She held it at arm’s length, passing it to the American. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of my granddaughter this week,” she added as a warning, catching the worry on Myka’s face.

Pausing for just a moment, the time traveller pulled the envelope open carefully and tugged the letter out. It was short and to the point, but as she read Helena’s sloping scrawl, she could feel the emotion between the lines.

“She requested an assignment,” Myka spoke after several long seconds, her voice heavy. Though the letter merely mentioned a journey of undisclosed length she, like Eleanor, knew the tell tale signs of an agent on a mission. “To get away from me?”

“You could look at it that way. Thought I think it would be more accurate to say that she merely requires time to understand her feelings.” Leaning forward in her chair, Eleanor reached out to squeeze Myka’s hand in comfort. “I know my Little One, Myka. She has known you for less than a week and the change in her has been immense. While she may appear to many as fickle in her personal pursuits, her emotions run deep. When she cares, _truly cares_ about someone, those feelings become like a force of nature that even she struggles to control.”

Myka nodded reluctantly and sank into her seat with a sigh. It was going to be a long week.

* * * * *

“Oh, bugger it all! Bloody brilliant!” HG threw her hands up in the air, gesturing wildly to a captive audience of one. “This just makes my sodding week.”

Pushing passed her slack-jawed companion, Helena jumped down from the carriage and turned her displeased expression on the unsuspecting cab driver.

She and Agent McShane were on their way to Salem Chapel in East Budleigh to search for a pendant that purportedly created an aura around its wearer, masking their lies. A century or so ago, the priest of the church was suspected of using the holy establishment to aid the passing smuggling trade but no one could catch him in the act, and who would dare to accuse a man of God when he appeared so innocent?

As the duo passed a few miles beyond Exeter though, their carriage began to experience problems and now it appeared as if their journey was going to be cut short.

Continuing to glare, the inventor sighed, displaying her impatience. “Well?”she began. “Can you fix it or not?”

Startled and not a little insulted by this young woman’s attitude, the driver pulled his cap tighter around his ears. It was midday and the sun was at its zenith but the late autumn air was biting and having been sat out in the open for the past few hours, he was chilled enough not to care a fig for anyone else’s discomfort. “I reckon a few strong lads could push that thing back int’ place and put a tempor’y nut there to keep the wheel on. ‘Fraid I’m fresh out though,” he chuckled, his rough laugh catching in his throat as he pulled out a pipe and searched for a light. “I’ll tell y’ the best thing to do; release that there horse and ride ‘im to the nearest town. A good blacksmith’ll ‘ave the right ‘elp.”

Rolling her eyes, Helena pushed passed the driver and leant down to inspect the troublesome wheel. It was a simple enough problem, the nut having come loose and fallen off so that the wheel had gradually worked its way to the end of the axel. The driver was right, they would need a couple of strong bodies to lift while the wheel was pushed back into place and a new nut installed. Unless, one could create the right sort of pressure to lift this side of the carriage. A simple wedge would hold the wheel until their destination and from there the proper repairs could be made.

Without consulting anyone, Helena searched around and, finally finding what she was looking for, grabbed hold of the horse’s reigns.

“Oi! What the blinkin’ ‘eck do you think you’re doin’ wiv my ‘orse?” The cabbie protested when he looked up through the smoke from his pipe. “You’re only gunna make it worse, y’ear?”

Ignoring the feeble protests, HG called to her colleague. “Come and push against this wheel while I pull the carriage forward. I doubt it’ll move it back into place but the pressure should prevent it from slipping off any further. Ready?”

“That depends,” Rob looked sceptical. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” Despite the question, he did as he was asked and waited to see what would happen.

“Just watch and learn, McShane,” HG grinned, her irritation waning in the face of their dilemma. “You’ll see.”

The horse was mercifully biddable and moved when asked to. The driver looked on in awe as his well-spoken charge managed to find a sturdy log and a boulder to use as a pivot. Her companion had just enough strength to lift the wheel while she pushed it back into place, and then, with seemingly little effort, she fashioned a wedge that she instructed the young man to hammer into place with a rock. The whole process seemed to take no time at all and she merely raised an amused eyebrow at him as she climbed back up into the box ahead of her friend.

“Well? Shall we away?” HG’s voice called out from her reacquired seat.

“She er... always like that?” the driver asked as his male passenger prepared to climb up after the young woman.

Rob smiled sympathetically. “As long as I’ve known her,” he stated ruefully.

After the adventure on the road, he mistakenly assumed that his travelling companion’s mood would lighten and that they might pass the time with some light conversation, but the moment the carriage began to move again, HG returned to staring out of the window, lost to her thoughts.

Debating whether to leave her be or not, he eventually decided that it would be best to just air everything out and not endure three or four days of awkward silence.

“So HG, why the sudden need to return to work?” he began brazenly. “I understood that you were enjoying the new companionship at your grandfather’s estate. Don’t tell me that you’ve alienated their guest already.”

Helena threw her colleague a sour look and returned to the bleak view over the fields. “Quite frankly, McShane, it’s none of your damned business why I asked for a new assignment; you’re just here to assist me.”

Rob scoffed. “Is that so? Well, _quite frankly_ , I don’t intend to spend the next few days with someone who clearly has the morbs. I could find myself a spot at the nearest rubber and find much more amenable company while I become pleasantly ram-tammed.” He was only halfway bluffing but hoped that the gamble would pay off.

“You are insufferable, do you know that?” the moody inventor grumbled. Amongst her colleagues, she didn’t hide the fact that she enjoyed the company of women, and it both amused and annoyed her that they assumed every problem she had was due to that. It didn’t help that they were often right. This time though, the issue ran deep. “I have not alienated her,” she insisted after a long pause. “We are perfectly amiable. I merely required a few days to gather my senses.”

The admission came at great pain as Helena felt her stomach clench and her eyes sting. Wasn’t it enough that she was apparently falling for someone completely unattainable? Did she also have to talk about it?

“Ah.” Rob nodded to himself in understanding. “Unrequited passions are the cruellest, are they not? I’ve heard that she’s in charge of her husband’s business affairs and that she’d rather attractive.” He threw a knowing glance Helena’s way. She was still unaware that it was Warehouse agents who had discovered the woman by the Thames. He and Rudy were under strict orders not to let on that they knew anything. He couldn’t help wondering what sort of curiosity the stranger had gotten mixed up with and why HG had to be kept in the dark, but decided that all would come clear eventually. He put his faith in his superiors. “Looks and brains. Just your type I imagine.”

“Hmm,” HG mumbled noncommittally.

“Cheer up, Wells,” McShane bolstered after a sober silence. “With looks and brains like _yours_ , you’ll never want for company, and it’s not as if you even sit still long enough to really want to settle yet anyhow. Stiff upper lip, old chum. Let’s say the drinks are on me tonight, hmm?”

Helena shook her head and forced a smile. She had begged Caturanga for this assignment, needing to put some space between her and Myka and now here she was, wasting the opportunity by dwelling on what the other woman might be doing and thinking in her absence.

Something didn’t sit right with everything she’d learnt about the American so far. Myka was hiding something, of that she was sure, she just couldn’t figure out what it could possibly be. Was she running away from someone or something? Was she a victim of some crime or a master criminal herself? Perhaps a vigilante escaping the consequences of her actions? So many scenarios had passed through her mind that when a lone thought suggested the possible involvement of an artefact, it almost seemed ridiculous. Almost.

Any hint of a curiosity would initiate a search from the Warehouse though and nothing in the area had been reported as far as she was aware. Still, she planned to keep her ear to the ground.

“Very well,” she agreed, determined to shake her dark mood away. “Though I expect you to be still fit for the job come morning. I haven’t missed a grab yet so woes betide you if you mess this one up.”

She grinned to herself at the expression of impending doom that came over Rob’s face as he processed her words. She had no intention of getting blind drunk but she couldn’t help feeling a little better at the idea of a glass of something strong to bring about a window of fuzzy nonchalance.

* * * * *

Eighteen days into their unanticipated adventure and both time travellers were reaching a point of uncontrollable pessimism. Try as she might, Myka struggled to muster the kind of enthusiasm that could fool an eight year old and the increasing moments of hopelessness that loomed around the two of them seemed to suck all joy out of life.

It had been difficult while Helena was around but with her gone, it was unbearable.

Despite what Eleanor had said about her granddaughter needing time to process and to not take it personally, Myka couldn’t help but feel that she was the cause of every negative consequence. Without the inventor around, she had been forced to over think her every action, from the moment of their first encounter in the dining room, to the looks they’d exchanged as Helena left with her mother and brother over a week ago.

She couldn’t help feeling that she should have worked harder to hide her feelings but her actions had been so involuntary that the mere idea of having done anything different was preposterous.

With Helena supposedly returning today, Myka was on edge, struggling between wanting to create a reasonable boundary; to maintain their semi-friendship; or to just say to hell with it and wrap her arms around the Victorian while declaring her undying love.

She was aware that her hormones were all over the place and that Christina’s sullenness was beginning to grate on her nerves. Their completed super-structure had enjoyed an all too brief existence as tempers broke over the reason for HG’s absence and small, angry feet took their frustrations out of the supporting beams. The tears had seemed endless after that incident and Myka had held her distraught child for over an hour while her own sorrows dripped into dark, wavy hair.

Myka paced Eleanor’s study now, a new letter from Helena held in her hand. “She wants to hold an informal gathering at her brother’s tomorrow evening?” The meaning in the letter was very clear but the American was having difficulty wrapping her head around it. “I suppose that means she’s figured out where she stands. If she can bear to spend the evening with me then she must have resolved whatever was bothering her.” Her words sounded optimistic while her heart sank.

“Must she?” Mrs Wells countered, not believing for a minute that Helena could be rid of her conflicts so easily. She watched her guest carefully; the way she worried her lip and pulled at her hair. If she hadn’t already known that they would end up together, she would have completely despaired at the pair of them. “I’ve no doubt that Helena might make every effort to put on a front but do not be fooled; she believes by now that you are taken and must protect herself from foreseeable heartache. It is a useless endeavour of course; true love cannot be so effortlessly thwarted.” Tilting her head to one side, she added, “It is also equally likely that she might have decided to throw caution to the wind.”

Myka sighed and sank into the nearest seat. “You say that like it’s a good thing. How do we know that I haven’t ruined everything by being here? What if she was supposed to be in London all this time?” She ran a hand through her unruly hair.

Eleanor smiled sympathetically. While she couldn’t entirely empathise with Myka’s plight, she understood her doubts. There was so much about this situation that was unknown and yet somehow, she found it easy to have faith that everything would turn out well. Without the weight of guilt that the time traveller carried, it was a somewhat easier task to be optimistic.

By the following evening, the brunette looked no more at ease with her thoughts, though perhaps a little brighter at the prospect of seeing Helena. Christina too was considerably more lively as she hovered by the door, waiting for the adults to show that they were ready. Though HG’s gathering was intended to be a venture strictly for adults, Eleanor, seeing her great-granddaughter’s disappointment, suggested that they arrive an hour early. Not only would this allow her the opportunity to check on Helena but she could also take Christina back home with her and leave Myka to enjoy the evening without concern for her daughter.

The American hesitated in front of the mirror in her room, her hands brushing down the front of her dress, assessing the fit. She had to hand it to Lucile; she had managed an amazing feat in the shortest time. If she had taken the time to think about it, she might have considered the idea that the tailor was prepared with a stash of blanks ready to go, but her mind was too otherwise occupied to bother. The only thing that really crossed her mind in regards to the outfit was whether Helena would like it.

The peacock blue of the bodice and skirt were unlike anything she had worn before, and the striking colour made her wonder how much the entire ensemble cost. The gestation stay held her curves in place but true to her request, wasn’t too tight. The French bodice was cut in such a way that it made her shoulders wider, which worked with the jacket to make her waist appear narrower than it was. The double layered draped skirt, though not overly wide, added to the effect so that, while anyone who took the time to study her would see that she was expecting, it wasn’t the first thing everyone would notice.

With the dress passing inspection and her hair pulled up, Myka felt a mixture of anticipation and shame. Was she really going to keep doing this? Torturing herself and Helena? The inventor had invited her though. What would she think if Myka didn’t show? She knew it was a poor excuse but she could only liken the twisting of her stomach and twitching in her veins to what she’d read during her pre-med studies of addicts and withdrawal symptoms.

How long had it been since she’d held her lover in her arms? Her eidetic memory took her to the night Helena had left for California. It felt like months had passed since that moment. Had it really only been three weeks? With the young HG taking off for the best part of a week, Myka was more emotional than ever. She was desperate to end this journey into the past but had no idea how. Both Eleanor and Caturanga continued to encourage patience but neither of them knew the inner battle she was fighting.

Sighing, she closed her eyes and tried to calm her thoughts. It would do no good to turn up at Charles and Helena’s town house looking like she’d spent the last few days crying. Even if that was close to the truth.

The carriage ride seemed to take no time at all, as Christina monopolised Eleanor’s attention and Myka stared off into space. Soon enough, they arrived and were shown into the parlour where Charles greeted them with considerably more enthusiasm than he’d shown in his mother’s presence. Charmed by her uncle, the eight year old bordered on impolite as she interrogated him about his hobbies and explained her love of the stage.

Myka stood unassumingly in the background, her attention drifting to every little creak of a floorboard or groan of the walls until the sound of heels on the stairs caught her keen ears and her eyes darted to the doorway.

The dark green, black trim and lace of Helena’s dress gave the inventor a gothic air. The cut was simple with just the collar and cuffs adding a slight masculine feel that made Myka think of her lover’s preferred outfits. Half-gloves covered the base of her hands, drawing the time traveller’s attention to long, slender fingers and taking her thoughts to tantalising places. She swept that body with a hungry gaze, finally meeting mahogany orbs and finding her desperation mirrored back at her.

The American could feel their desire for one another across the room, but rather than finding the sensation heavy; rather than drowning in it, she felt buoyed, lifted out of her sorrows and drawn to safety. Lips slowly curled up at the corners and Helena returned the expression. Their eyes remained locked as HG wandered closer and Myka wondered briefly where the music was coming from. The moment those fingers touched her arm though, the spell broke and the calm, lulling waves surged, crashing against her insides.

Her heart pounding, Myka felt her expression slip. She tore her gaze away and screwed her eyes closed.

“Mrs Bering, are you quite alright?”

Charles’ voice cut through the drumming in her head and brought her back to the room. “Yes, I...” She swallowed thickly, swaying ever so slightly with the room. “I haven’t had much sleep. Could I get a glass of water please?”

“Certainly,” Charles answered, calling for a servant.

Mercifully, the future agent took a breath and felt the room slide back into place. Helena’s hand had retreated but hovered close, ready to help if needed. Myka could see in dark eyes though that her reaction had hurt the young inventor.

“Myka, if you are unwell, you would be welcome to return with Christina and myself,” Mrs Wells suggested with a glance in her granddaughter’s direction. “There will be other opportunities to visit.”

“Yes, of course,” Helena agreed wholeheartedly. “Do not cause yourself any distress on my behalf, please. I would cancel the entire evening if it would suit you.” She ignored the raised eyebrow from her brother. Worrying that she had somehow been the cause of the American’s state, HG was willing to go to any lengths to find a remedy.

Though her brain agreed that it was probably the best idea and that it was a good excuse to do the right thing, her heart refused to listen. Stomach clenching in knots at the idea of leaving Helena, Myka was determined to stay.

Feeling uncomfortable with all the fuss, the American sipped her water and shook her head. “I’m fine, really. I don’t have to spend the entire evening standing, do I? If we could sit?” She didn’t wait to see if they would follow her as she turned and sank gently into a low-backed couch. “I don’t want to have spent so long getting dressed up only to have to leave early,” she smiled sheepishly up at them and heard a smattering of amusement round the room.

Aware that all eyes were watching her closely for any sign of failing health, Myka drew from her reserves and adopted a brave face. In the back of her mind, she puzzled over the moment when Helena had touched her. It hadn’t been unpleasant so much as it was simply overwhelming. She felt a residual tingling in her extremities and recognised it immediately for what it was. Desire. Arousal. Another sensation pulsed closer to her core. Love. Remembering a piece of the mystery, she glanced down at her ring finger and tried to focus but all she felt was warmth before her thoughts were interrupted.

“Isn’t that right, Mama?”

Christina’s expectant expression gazed up at Myka and she had to switch gears to replay the conversation that had continued around her. “Yes, you are a right little tree house enthusiast. I wouldn’t be surprised if you managed to build one almost singlehandedly after the house you made in the play room the other day. You barely let me lift a finger to help.”

“What was this?” Helena asked, intrigued, her expression bright as she listened attentively to the young girl.

“We used your blocks to build a super structure,” the eight year old began, launching into a detailed explanation of the entire process.

“That sounds incredible,” the inventor gushed with genuine interest. “Did you leave it erected? I would dearly love to see it.”

Christina’s face fell and her soulful gaze landed on her Mama. Myka pulled her closer and placed a kiss on her forehead, smiling ruefully to show that there were no hard feelings for the regretted tantrum. “Christina decided to corner the market on construction and demolition. Knocking things down and starting again is sometimes half the fun.” She turned pleading eyes on Helena, begging her to understand.

HG chuckled, “If I had a crown for every time I scrapped an invention and started again, I’d have a pocket full of finnys.”

Like becoming accustomed to a sudden change in illumination, Myka’s panic eased, her body growing comfortably reacquainted with Helena’s proximity. When it came time for Eleanor and Christina to leave, she stood easily and melted rather than jumped as the inventor instinctively reached out to steady her.

_You can do this,_ she told herself firmly. _You have no idea how long you’re going to be here and you can’t avoid Helena. You’ll go crazy if you have to live through another week like this one._

With this thought settled firmly in her mind now, chasing away the doubts, Myka saw her daughter to the door and kissed her goodnight. She smiled warmly when Helena promised to visit with the young girl in a day or two and returned to the parlour with a sense of growing confidence.

As HG joined her and Charles, and guests soon began to arrive, there was no thought in her mind for how the evening could possibly end in disaster.


	13. Chapter 13

 “So I imagine this is another of those instances when you are forbidden to divulge the truth,” Helena guessed as she gazed stonily at her nineteen-year-old daughter.

Christina winced. Of course her mother would be listening in. Even exhausted and distracted, she was still HG Wells and one of the most inquisitive people she knew. “How much did you hear?” she asked tentatively.

Shaking her head, the older woman turned on her heel and marched back to where she’d left Norie’s journals. “Enough to despair at the people who instructed you to keep certain confidences to yourself. Those people most likely being your parents, meaning that I instructed you to keep things from me and the absurdity of it all is driving me rather mad I’m afraid.” She gazed, unseeing at the books in her hand and reached up to rub at her temples with the other.

“Mum,” Christina stepped close to her mother and placed a hand on each of her shoulders. “In a couple of days, Mama will be back and you’ll have answers. Please, I know you hate just waiting, but you need to rest.”

“I am not some frail petticoat who must sit to be told that the baker has fallen off his bike so there will be no rolls for supper,” Helena complained sharply. “What possible reason could there be for keeping me in the dark when I am in no position to affect any change in our situation!?”

“None,” the teen admitted with a sigh. “Mama thought that it might be best to tell you but you were adamant that I wasn’t to let anything slip.” She caught the utter frustration in her mother’s eyes and pulled them both onto the couch. “Precaution. That’s what you told me. You said that there was nothing you could do with the information and since she didn’t remember being told anything then we should maintain the timeline as strictly as possible, that you would hate yourself more for ruining what you have and will have more than you would hate being kept in the dark for a week.”

“Preposterous,” HG muttered, though her words were somewhat more subdued.

“We all thought the same, you included, but the alternative... It doesn’t bear thinking about, so it’s a precaution, that’s all.” She watched her mother sink her head into her hands, the journals lying forgotten on the coffee table in front of them. Deciding to take charge, Christina stood and began stacking cushions against the arm of the couch. She grabbed a blanket and threw it on the opposite end, but it wasn’t until she started unlacing Helena’s boots that the inventor looked up to see what she was doing. “You are exhausted,” she insisted before her mother could get a word in. “You are going to lie down, close your eyes and sleep for an hour or two.”

“You are not my mother. I have... there are things I must do...” HG protested weakly.

“What things?” The teen looked deploringly into red-rimmed eyes, demanding a reasonable excuse. When no more words came, she continued with her task. “Just try, Mum. Please? For me?”

Helena huffed and grumbled even as she followed the instruction and collapsed against the cushions. It was a sign of her complete lethargy that she wasn’t even able to lift her feet on her own, but there was something comforting, a symmetry to being tucked in by this young woman above her. She smiled as warm lips pressed against her forehead. She reached into the top of her shirt and wound long fingers around the ring that lay there. Was it warmer than usual? She blinked once... twice... three times, before she was fast asleep.

* * * * *

Voices drifted through the house from the kitchen, finally waking the napping inventor. For a moment, her heart leapt, thinking that Myka was home but as she scrambled to her feet, untangling the covers from around her, she felt a lead weight fall into her stomach.

Swallowing her disappointment, Helena folded the blanket and rearranged the cushions, giving her hands something to do as she prepared to greet her guests.

Irene and Leena’s voices she recognised, along with Christina’s of course but there was a fourth with them that didn’t immediately bring an identity to mind. Who was this stranger and what was she doing in her house?

She glanced at the hall clock as she passed and was surprised to discover that she’d been out for over four hours. On entering the kitchen, she made a bee-line for her daughter and ruffled her hair as she leant down to whisper in her ear.

“One or two hours?”

Christina had the grace to look sheepish, though she didn’t regret her decision to let her mother wake up in her own time. “You needed it,” she defended.

HG stayed behind the teen, her hands resting lightly on the girl’s shoulders as she looked to the other people gathered. “Mrs Fredrick. Leena,” she greeted those she knew, her eyebrow raising the question she decided not to put into words.

“Agent Wells,” Irene acknowledged. “I’m glad to see that you managed to get some sleep at last. Christina tells us that you’ve been given access to some of your grandmother’s journals.”

“Yes, I hope to find something useful in them. Perhaps something that will help me understand why I feel as if everyone is deliberately keeping information from me.” Her words were sarcastic but her tone held only a fragment of the steel it had that morning.

Tilting her head back to look up at her mother, Christina grinned. “Paranoia,” she commented. “You need to lay off the opium, Mum.”

“Quiet you,” Helena tutted and clipped the girl lightly across the head, smiling to herself at the chuckle that followed. She squeezed the shoulders under her hands, grateful for the support.

A series of amused smiles passed around the room. They were all aware of the tension in the air and the gaping chasm that existed without having Agent Bering or the eight-year-old Christina Wells around. The injection of a bit of light comic relief was what all of them needed to break the ice.

“Agent Wells, I would like to introduce the newest member of our team, Abigail Cho. As well as helping Leena at the bed and breakfast, Ms Cho will be available to offer counselling to any agent who would like it.” Mrs Fredrick sipped her tea but watched the inventor over the brim of her cup.

Helena frowned. “A Warehouse psychiatrist? Am I the catalyst for this?” She took a deep breath, fighting with her gut reaction. Mental illnesses had not exactly had the nicest of stigmas attached to them where she’d grown up. She felt the stranger’s eyes on her and couldn’t help but wonder what the woman was diagnosing her with. In her day, women were all tarred with the same hysterical brush.

“The Warehouse and its agents are long overdue the services of someone with Ms Cho’s skills,” Irene explained in her usual matter of fact manner. “Your experiences, Agent Wells, may have triggered renewed effort on behalf of myself and the regents to find such a person, but you are by far the only one who will find her services useful. Now,” she finished her tea and stood primly from her stool. “I must return to my duties. I will leave you to get better acquainted. Christina, if you would escort me to the door?”

HG had no time to protest as her daughter jumped up at the summons and followed the caretaker out. She fidgeted for a moment, itching to follow but managed somehow to resist. Seconds passed before Leena’s compassionate voice broke through her distraction.

“How are you, HG?”

Sighing, Helena bit back her instinctive response. “As well as can be expected I suppose. Is there still tea in the pot?” she asked as she took Irene’s abandoned seat.

“I’ll make a fresh one,” Leena offered, standing before anyone could protest.

Left alone at the breakfast bar, HG observed the woman opposite. “So, what is it like, being a psychiatrist?”

Abigail levelled an even stare at the Brit. “What’s it like, being HG Wells?” she countered.

Helena chuckled and ran a hand through her slightly sleep-mused hair. “Not as glamorous as it sounds, I assure you. I’m proud of many of my accomplishments of course, but if I’ve learnt anything in a century and a half of existence, it’s that I am much happier just being plain Helena.”

“Why do you think that is?” Abigail asked, hoping that she sounded simply curious and not too ‘shrinky’.

“HG was and always will be an ideal. Helena is who I am. She is a simple woman who wants to enjoy being with her family.” There was a stoniness to her expression as she said this and she was grateful when Leena placed a cup and saucer in front of her.

Not wanting to push too far but finding that she couldn’t help herself as the inventor continued to respond, Abigail chanced one more question. “You don’t think you could be both?”

Helena’s gaze fell into the middle distance as she tried to give the question fair consideration. It was the sound of the front door closing and Christina returning that prompted her answer. “If we do not learn from history, Ms Cho, we are doomed to repeat it.”

* * * * *

Leena and Abigail declined the offer of dinner and saw themselves out while the Wells women remained to debate what they were going to eat. As neither of them were in the mood to cook properly and HG was eager to finally dive into her grandmother’s journals, they both agreed to settle for reheated leftovers from the freezer.

Diligent as she always was, Myka had stored what they were too full to eat so that there were a dozen or so miniature meals in handy little labelled tubs filling one of the freezer drawers. With sleep having renewed her appetite somewhat, HG pulled out shepherd’s pie and hotpot, leaving Christina with chilli to add to her microwavable rice.

Helena eyed the pouch of rice with suspicion, prompting an exaggerated eye roll from the teen. “Still don’t trust modern convenience foods?”

“Very few of them I would actually call food.” HG eyed the rice again. “This one is somewhat acceptable, I suppose.”

They carried their meals to the table and ate quickly; the only conversation passing between them was a short and ultimately futile interrogation over the girl’s private conversation with the Warehouse caretaker.

Once the dishes were stacked on the draining board to dry (because Myka always insisted on leaving the sink clear), they retreated to the living room and settled once again on the couch.

Feeling her own exertion catching up with her, Christina pulled the neatly folded blanket from the back of the couch and spread it between them as she curled her feet up beside her and dropped her head onto her mother’s shoulder. “Read to me?” she asked softly.

Helena looked down on the teen with a fond smile. If there was one silver lining to this whole impossible situation, it was the joy she found in being with her child at this advanced age. When the hours until the promised end seemed to drag on and on, she just had to glance at this miracle before her and remember to have faith.

“Certainly, darling.” She wrapped an arm around Christina and opened the earliest of her grandmother’s journals.

Helena spent the evening reading to her daughter, only occasionally breaking for the call of nature or light refreshment. There were many early entries that involved her and her brother and the mischief they sometimes got up to, but there were also many brief insights into the Warehouse and the secret life Rupert and Eleanor Wells had lived.  By the end of the night, there were around a dozen entries that interested her enough to reread and analyse.

_ “August 9th, 1889”,  _ HG read aloud for a second time.

_ “Caturanga informs me that the Warehouse is shifting. Restless, is his word. I do believe he rather thinks that it has a mind of its own and, though I am hesitant to admit it, I am coming round to his way of thinking. _

_ Imagine my surprise when I discover that the new agent we are directed to is none other than my darling Helena. She is but two and twenty; the bane of her mother’s existence and the joy of mine.”  _ Christina chuckled again and her mother bumped her shoulder lightly. “ _She will make a marvellous addition to the Warehouse, for she is an endless wonder in and of herself, though I fear what this life could do to her._

_ I dearly wish to take her under my wing as I have always done but know that I cannot. Whatever destiny lies out there for her, it is not my place to interfere. I will do what I can from the shadows and leave the rest to her. _

_ Perhaps there is a note of hypocrisy there? I am certain that the fine line between grandmother and regent will cause some consternation but I am determined only to do my duty on both fronts.” _

Helena scoffed, irritation once again warring with the warmth she felt from her Norie’s words. “Of course it’s bloody hypocritical. She couldn’t tell me anything in case it interfered but she decided to interfere ‘from the shadows’?”

Christina shrugged, lost in her own guilty thoughts about keeping secrets from her mother.

“Though I suppose I should consider myself a black pot or kettle, being as I apparently like to meddle in my affairs too. From the future no less,” she grumbled, not able to let the issue go as long as it kept returning to her mind.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, the teen shifted so she could see her mother’s expression. She recoiled at the frustration she found, though in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help feeling somewhat vindicated for the years her parents had spent dancing around the truths of her past.

Laying her head back down, the girl closed her eyes, feeling her fatigue more sharply. Listening to her great-grandmother’s words, Christina was dragged back to her memories of her childhood in London. Mostly the memories were of her time with Myka but occasionally, images of her early years with Helena intruded too.

She had vague memories of being six years old while the streets of London were draped with decorations for Victoria’s diamond jubilee. Helena had insisted on them spending the day in Hyde Park, in their Sunday best with a picnic, blankets, books and games in hand. Uncle Charlie had joined them for an hour or two in the afternoon and several of her Mummy’s acquaintances had stopped by to share a drink and toast the long-lived monarch. Days like that stuck in her mind. At a time when Myka wasn’t a part of their lives, their best memories were of the hours they spent together.

As a child, though curious and bright, she had been far too disinterested in challenging the status quo. Particularly after moving to America, she should have been full of questions but had been too content with her home and her family to bother. On returning from Victorian London with Myka, she had struggled with her emotions and retreated into herself, causing her mothers yet more stress, but eventually, she had settled again and found her place in the world with her growing family. Had she suppressed the questions that arose later in her teens? To this day she wasn’t sure when they first began niggling at her thoughts but as she glanced up at her mother again, she was reminded by how dreadful the unknown could feel.

Her mother was right. Secrets were practically a profession in their family. With this thought, she decided that she needed to at least share the reason for her conversation with Mrs Fredrick. As it was late though and her mother was still absorbed in Norie’s diary entries, she decided that it could wait until morning.

Helena noticed the moment the teen’s breathing evened out, indicating that she’d finally succumbed to sleep. Deciding that she preferred the girl’s company, she gently encouraged Christina to lie across her lap, repositioned the blanket and continued to read to herself.

_             “October 15th, 1889 _

_ I never doubted that my Little One would perform amazing feats but I cannot deny the conflict I feel between pride and terror. _

_ Jack the Ripper. Evil incarnate if ever there was an example of it, and my little girl was instrument to his downfall. _

_ Caturanga states that he has rarely seen such daring or tenacity in an agent and was practically giddy at the notion that Helena could be just what the Warehouse needs to bring it into the new century. _

_ Her fellow agents are a mixed bunch and not altogether delighted with the idea of a woman in their midst. I have asked my Rupert to keep an ear to the ground. He is familiar with some of these gentlemen and likely will glean more of their thoughts and opinions than I. _

HG grinned briefly to herself, feeling renewed pride at the knowledge that her grandmother had been so amazed by her capture of the notorious murderer. She remembered wanting to tell people, to brag, she admitted to herself. Norie had known all along.

“Crafty old bat,” she mumbled.

_             February 1st, 1890 _

_ I am nevermore convinced of the Warehouse having an essence of sentience, and nevermore thankful for and wary of it. _

_ It favours her, my Helena. She smells apples. _

“Still do.”

_ I am reminded of Eve in the Garden of Eden and cannot help but wonder if the Warehouse could be likened to a benevolent deity or its counterpart. Perhaps both? Perhaps neither? _

_ Perhaps I am simply an old woman who reads too much into a mere coincidence but regardless, my instincts lie with Caturanga’s; the Warehouse favours my Little One and I cannot help but feel that it has great plans for her. _

_             May 16th, 1890 _

_ Something stirs in the air. Rupert and I paid the Warehouse a visit today. It is as it was prior to Helena’s induction - restless. _

_ Many of the agents are busy elsewhere, following leads or gathering information. Agent Kipling was in the archives when we arrived. He regards us with a dismissive attitude, as if we do not belong there. Helena sometimes speaks of a man amongst her acquaintance who is more ego than sense. Though neither of us can discuss the Warehouse, I gather that this is the man she speaks of. _

“Too bloody right he was.”

_ Genevieve is up in arms over the latest rumours. With Helena’s frequent jaunts out of town, tongue’s are wagging. I’ll never understand what my son saw in her as a prospective bride but I can only be grateful for the joy of having grandchildren. Still, I feel the need to speak with Helena on the matter. Much as I care not for Genevieve’s vexations, it pains me to hear of the unnecessary social pressures she puts on my granddaughter. _

_             July 27th, 1890 _

_ In a little over a week, Helena will have been with Warehouse 12 for a year. She has risen to every challenge and defied every conventional restriction placed on her. _

_ I feel at times as if she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders and yet she bares it so brazenly. I know there will come a time though when that boundless strength is put to the test. Something tells me that it is inevitable. I can only pray that she will find it within her to overcome the challenges she’s faced with. _

Swallowing a sudden rising fear at the memory, Helena glanced down at the young woman lying across her lap and remembered to breathe. Norie had felt the tragedy in her future. How? Eleanor had suspected that the Warehouse had plans for her? Had those plans involved Christina’s death?

_             September 3rd, 1890 _

_ Helena was seen meeting with the journalist, Mr Phelps. Dear God, I hope she knows what she’s doing. I hope for her sake that he knows to keep their affair under his hat. It is one thing to be seen entering a bedroom with a woman; excuses can be made, but though I adore her courage and candour, I fear for her well-being if this incident impacts negatively on her reputation. _

“Good God, I’d forgotten about that. Poor Richard,” she shook her head, reminiscing over her thoughtless actions. “He should never have had to face mother. I should have been more careful.”

_ Old age is creeping up on me. There was a time when I would have cheered her on. Now I pray that she will slow down. _

_ I can only continue to listen and guide her where I am able. Though I have asked Chaturange to leave Helena out of any investigations for the time being. Genevieve behaves like a woman possessed and the last thing that would help the situation is Helena disappearing for several days. _

“Hypocrite,” she chuckled to herself, thinking of her grandmother’s wish to not interfere. 

_ I’ve suggested to my daughter-in-law that she allow my granddaughter to stay with her brother more often. Helena will breathe easier out from under her mother’s scrutiny and it will be simpler to explain her absences; the girl is known for spending days below ground when her experiments demand her attention. Eccentricities are simpler to accept than public displays of affection sadly. _

“Thank you,” she added as she remembered her mother’s ire and the refuge she’d found with her brother.

_ I pray this world will one day realise her genius and accept it. That she could be judged not by her gender but by her deeds. If not for the Warehouse, I think this world might drive her to the brink of destruction. _

HG lowered the journal onto her lap and closed her eyes. She had stumbled over those words the first time, feeling shame for the destruction she’d left in her wake after Christina’s death. Norie had been so proud of her, what would she have thought to her granddaughter’s madness?

Flicking a couple of months along, Helena left her darker thoughts where they belonged and returned to an entry just a week before Myka and Christina’s arrival in 1890.

_             November 2nd, 1890 _

_ Something is coming. The Warehouse is as restless as ever. There are four curiosities now in our possession that were not last week; a number unprecedented in the history of Warehouse 12. _

_ Caturanga reports this unusual behaviour as a sign of excitement or anticipation. Rupert finds the idea amusing but I confess myself feeling a sense of unease. Anticipation does not automatically suggest events of a benign nature. _

_ The agents appear to be feeling the change in the winds also and I’ve suggested to the other regents that we would do well to observe them in the field and review their performance. Rupert will be in charge of the agents working in London and its surrounding countries, should a curiosity appear in those areas. _

Taking a breath, she turned another few pages.

_             November 8th, 1890 _

_ We were right to be concerned about the agents in the field. They’ve grown arrogant and impatient. Agent Kipling is suspended from duty and Agent Darling will be working under supervision for the foreseeable future. All agents will partake in a period of retraining. _

“Training which I aced.”

_ In a shocking display of superiority, Mr Kipling attacked a young woman he believed to be in possession of a curiosity.  _ “Bastard. Had I been there, you would have lost the use of your legs.” _My Rupert was thankfully on scene and able to offer the young woman and her daughter aid._

_ Doctor Gravestock offers his services and reports that she is merely unconscious. It is with this news and the promise that her mother will wake that I am able to encourage the daughter, Christina, to have supper with Rupert and myself. _

_ Christina is well mannered and quiet. She appears exhausted yet politely refuses to rest until her mother wakes.  _ “My brave girl,” Helena whispered, her hand stroking absentmindedly through cropped hair as she pictured her eight-year-old scared but holding it together. _I attempt to make small talk, trying to find answers to their peculiar state of dress but she is bright and evades my questions with deflection. I cannot help but feel a sense of familial attachment to this child. Her demeanour is calm though she clearly worries for her mother. Her eyes however remind me of my Little One._

HG smiled and gazed down at the head beneath her hand.

_ I do not think I am far wrong to believe that these foundlings are in some way connected to the disturbance at the Warehouse. _

_ I will attempt to discover more information from the mother when she wakes. _

The inventor paused before reaching for the next page. Having read through all of the journals once already, she knew what was coming next. 

 


	14. Chapter 14

Current company should have provided enough of a distraction for Myka to keep her gaze from drifting around the room. Oscar Wilde was trying to talk to her for crying out loud, what the hell was wrong with her? After fifteen minutes, she was still only catching half of what he was saying and he had begun to notice.

“My dear, you appear far too preoccupied for a discussion in which you professed to be interested,” Wilde commented with a mixture of amusement and irritation. “Fair lady doth consume thy thoughts,” he added in a whisper.

Myka blushed and focussed her full attention on the literary master. “I’m so sorry, Mr Wilde.” She paused and tugged self-consciously at her sleeve. “I really do admire your work. Under normal circumstances...”

“Were Miss Wells not beckoning your attention from across the room with those doe eyes,” he finished for her, seeming appeased at her flattery. “Please forgive me, but you appear to be in the family way and, though she vexes me with her persistent flirtations, Helena Wells is a dear friend and I should not like to see her struck by love’s cruel counterparts.”

Green eyes softened and the agent’s gaze drifted over to her favourite vision once more. “The last thing I want to do is hurt her,” she said sincerely before turning back to her companion. “But I think we’re passed the point where avoiding that is possible. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”

He nodded, his brow rising in surprise at her insight and caught dark eyes zoning in on them once more. “I fear you are correct. Since hurt is unavoidable, you may as well elate in the journey lust and desire offer on a silver platter. Shall we join the Wells siblings and see if I can whisk young Charles away for a time? I do love to confuse that boy.”

Without waiting for a reply from his companion, Oscar took her by the arm and walked her over to where brother and sister were standing together in a corner.

All the time that Myka spent not listening to Mr Wilde, Helena’s attention had been on her, whether directly staring or from the corner of her eye, she couldn’t keep her thoughts from drifting.

“Good God, H,” Charles muttered in exasperation. “Have you taken leave of your senses? If you continue to stare at her, no one will be in any doubt as to your intentions. Tone it down, sister. Do you want someone to call the blues?”

“This crowd? In our own home? Don’t be daft, Charles,” she dismissed him.

“Scoff if you want but it was your clever thinking that brought more than one of your lovers here tonight. Phelps has noticed your distraction, though if I know that look, his thoughts are not unpleasant. Marietta on the other hand looks positively green.” He turned back to his sister who didn’t appear to be paying him a jot of attention. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, H.”

This finally drew Helena’s attention and she abandoned her staring temporarily to focus on her brother. “Richard and I have an understanding; he won’t be a problem. Marietta thrives on her emotions, she says the experience gives her characters an edge. I’m doing her a service.”

“As you say,” he grumbled, unconvinced.

“You’re such a fussbudget,” HG huffed. “Stop your puckering and spit it out.”

“Well, you can keep up all the podsnappery you care to, she may not have you.” He watched her jaw clench and continued before she could interrupt him. “You can give me all the gum you like too and cause a shine. Mother’s friends will bubble around about you and eventually everyone will know that you want to dab it up with a woman. A married woman,” he added with a hiss.

Turning away from the room temporarily, Helena rolled her eyes. “Had I better retire to my room and practise my catechisms?” She sniped sarcastically. 

Charles took a sip of his own drink. “I know what you want, HG but the world doesn’t work that way. Now don’t go getting your dander up but if you want to play about at being a man, you need to learn to be discrete.”

For several seconds Helena was stuck between an urge to laugh and a sharp impulse to smack her brother around the head. Compromising, she sighed at his ignorance and returned to her task.

HG tensed when she saw her friend leading Myka over. Her breath caught in her throat and she took an over large mouthful of wine to calm her nerves. She felt her brother’s eyes on her and heard his snort of amusement.

_ She is magnificent,  _ the voice in her head declared loudly as she drank in the sight before her.

A week away from the American had done nothing to quell the intensity of her attraction and by the time she and McShane had successfully captured their curiosity, she had given up trying to control the yearnings.

All day, Helena had been in a quandary over what she should wear. Ordinarily, she preferred her trousers, shirt and waist-coat, but with the additional company, she eventually decided that a dress would draw less attention. Apparently, her behaviour was giving her away regardless so that she needn’t have bothered with the extra caution, but in the end, the unmistakable appreciation in Myka’s eyes made the choice worth any discomfort.

Helena still couldn’t figure out exactly what the woman’s intentions were but it seemed that there was little she could do except hope. Hope for a sign that would bring to reality her dreams. Dream for a moment that would make everything clear. Clear the way for love to take wing and fly.

Rather than ridicule and try to fight the notion of love, HG decided to embrace it. Ignoring the ominous portents of Byron on the subject, the inventor decided that she was nothing if not the adventurous, risk-taking sort. What other venture was greater, more hazardous than love?

She watched long fingered hands worrying one another agitatedly and brought her glass back to her lips. Somewhere, in the recesses of her brain, a sensible voice tried to tell her that too much alcohol wasn’t her friend, but her eyes captured the white of teeth biting a lip and her brain dissolved into a puddle of grey mush.

Every part of her body pulsed, intensifying with Myka’s proximity until they were standing side by side and it was all she could do to keep her hands to herself.

“Mr Wilde, Mrs Bering,” Charles extended his hand to the gentleman, having missed his entrance earlier. “I do hope you’re enjoying yourselves. Winter is almost upon us; I fancy this could be our last bash before we’re in for the long sleep.”

“You don’t hold with icy gatherings?” Wilde asked over his glass of scotch, smirking slightly. “They can be quite cosy when one’s invite list is carefully constructed.”

“I... Of course,” Charles stammered politely before turning to the tall brunette. He was too busy shaking off Wilde’s penetrating stare to immediately notice the mesmerised expression on the American’s face as she gazed at his sister. “Mrs Bering, are you enjoying your evening? Are you feeling much better?”

“Huh...?” Myka shook off the treacle feeling in her thoughts and quickly realised that she was expected to respond. “Oh, yes of course. You have a lot of interesting friends.”

“None as interesting as Miss Wells,” Oscar muttered in an aside to Charles.

Helena watched Myka’s blush intensify and while she was relieved to know that she was being admired as much as she was doing the admiring, she glared at the writer. “I invited you here should I require aid, not so you could alienate my friends,” she groused.

 Oscar shrugged, looking thoroughly entertained while Charles and Myka continued to feel uncomfortable. “Would you like a glass of wine?” The elder sibling asked Myka, hoping to steer the conversation.

Glancing automatically at her stomach, the time traveller shook her head. “I’m not drinking, thank you. I’m happy with water.”

“Come now,” Charles laughed, seeing the earnest seriousness on her face. “One will do no harm, surely.”

“No, thank you, Mr Wells. Doctor’s orders,” she lied, hoping to deter him with a smile.

Helena was ready to step in if her brother refused to take the hint but thankfully, Wilde chose that moment to free them from his company and any continued teasing.

“Come along, Wells,” he threw an arm around the slighter man’s shoulder and led him in the direction of the crystal decanters. “Let’s leave the ladies to it and indulge my enjoyment of your liquor.”

Myka smiled shyly, mildly embarrassed by Wilde’s obvious intention to leave her alone with Helena. She reached a hand to the back of her neck and squeezed, her mind searching desperately for something to say. She felt the inventor’s eyes on her and glanced up automatically.

“Are you certain that you are well, Myka?” HG’s concerned tone floated across the space between them. “What occurred earlier...”

“It was nothing,” the future agent looked at the floor, avoiding mahogany depths as she tried to downplay the incident. “Just a moment of dizziness.”

Helena hesitated and then brightened as she took in the colour in Myka’s cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. “Very well,” she smiled warmly. “However, I do recall you mentioning something about your aversion to standing all evening. Shall we?” She gestured to a small sofa and led the way.

Skirts billowed, fabrics mixing and moulding together, striking in the way the colours complemented one another. Knees brushed as the two women each sat at an angle.

Myka felt the relief in her feet and back and thanked her companion for the reprieve. She considered their position and posture on the couch and thought about the many evenings she’d spent with Helena in her arms or visa-versa.

“I hope Wilde didn’t give you too hard a time,” Helena began in a playful tone. “His manners can be quite circumspect when he feels you are not paying close enough attention to his brilliance. He once refused to speak to me for a month entire when I had the _audacity_ to yawn during one of his monologues.”

“He seems to like you a lot. Do you go to a lot of events like this together?” Myka wondered aloud, thinking about one of the inventor’s earlier comments to the man.

Jumping to conclusions, HG appeared confused. Hadn’t she made her intentions clear? How was this woman still able to confuse her? “We are much too alike to be of use to each other romantically, unless you include the service I offer in singing his praises to likely young men. It is gauche to speak of it but I feel I must ask; you are aware of the alternate proclivities of many of the people in attendance this evening, are you not?” She observed Myka with a frown, hoping that she hadn’t been completely wrong. “I was led to believe that you were not unaccustomed to such...”

Myka watched Helena trail off uncomfortably and reached over to place a reassuring hand over hers. “I’m aware and I’m fine with it. Consensual affection between two adults is not something that should be restricted by law or society.” She watched the inventor’s posture change and realised where her hand was, still resting on Helena’s knee, holding her fingers gently. Slowly, she moved back. “So, you’re Oscar Wilde’s wingman,” she added beneath a nervous laugh, not thinking about her words and their meaning.

Still tingling from the contact, HG was slow to respond. “Wingman? That is a curious title.”

“Oh,” the American stammered, caught in feeling stupid from the verbal slip. “It’s a saying from back home. It means...” She searched for a reasonable alternative to the actual origin. “Well, it’s like when birds fly in formation I suppose and the one behind travels in the leader’s slip-stream and has to expend less energy to fly. You give your friend help to make his task easier.” She looked into dark eyes nervously, breathing an internal sign of relief as her companion seemed impressed by her explanation.

“You appear to know a great deal,” Helena noted, feeling ever more drawn to the beautiful woman. She’d conveniently forgotten about impending marriages or the reality of motherhood. What did the future mean to her when Myka was here with her, now? “How did you come by your studies? Were you tutored at home?”

It felt strange letting Helena get to know her all over again and yet there was a part of her that was fully enjoying the experience. The voice, that in the aftermath of her mad attempt to end civilisation, had questioned a deeper meaning behind the Victorian’s questions, once again felt confident in letting a little of herself escape.

“I grew up in a bookshop,” she confessed and then, after a moment’s hesitation added, “Bering and Sons.” Something must have shown in her expression as she waited for the inevitable question because HG’s next words were not at all what she was expecting.

“Let me guess; you’re an only child?”

“Close,” Myka chuckled. “One sister. Dad thought the ‘and Sons’ sounded classier.”

Helena shook her head in disgust and eyed the brunette closely. Here was an incredible woman, intelligent, beautiful, compassionate and strong. By any standards, she should be the pride and joy of any father, yet too many men still considered the value of women to be below their own. It sickened her, and in regards to Myka, saddened her. “Has he met you?” She asked incredulously. The blush that appeared high on her companion’s cheeks quickly improved her mood.

They continued to chat, alternating between animated and serious conversation, both forgetting the wider world as their bodies breeched the line between new acquaintance and treasured friend, hands touching sporadically to make a point or share a feeling.

Even without the wine, Myka felt the comforting proximity to her future fiancée relaxing and felt her inhibitions lowering. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she was aware of a voice that suggested that she was spending too much time staring into the Victorian’s eyes and not enough time monitoring her own body language or the words falling from her mouth. Helena’s presence was intoxicating and once or twice, she caught herself gazing at soft lips for a fraction too long.

God, she loved this woman. They were going to have three beautiful children, and when the twins were old enough to travel, they were going to fly to London, get married and rent a horse and trap to ride them through one of the parks. Though she wasn't sure if that was actually feasible, it made her happy to imagine it anyway.

It was precisely at this point that the future agent found her mind once more drifting to serious topics and made the mistake of voicing her concerns. 

Eyes homing in on the raven-haired woman again, she noticed her refined posture again and was struck by the image of a waiting room and the awareness of hard, plastic chairs. A vision of a sonogram print-out posted on the fridge at home filled her mind.

“Helena, are you sure you should be drinking alcohol?” she heard her voice ask before she could think on the words.

HG frowned. Of all the things she’d imagined coming out of the American’s mouth at this point, questioning her drinking habits was not one of them. “Are you opposed to a glass or two of wine?” She responded in confusion.

Knowing that she probably shouldn’t have said anything to begin with but wanting an answer to the question of whether or not Helena was pregnant with Christina yet, Myka swallowed her doubts and marched figuratively on. “I like a drink. I just wondered if you were _sure_ that there are no... extenuating circumstances that might mean you should... abstain for a while?”

Helena’s frown deepened and she stared at the green-eyed woman for several seconds to judge whether she’d understood her correctly. “Are you implying that my _circumstances_ might mirror your own?”

Myka ducked her head and had a quick look around. Anyone who was paying them any attention whatsoever was too far away to hear what they were saying. “Well... do they?”

“Certainly not,” HG insisted rather sharply.

The American was taken aback, not only at the tone of utter horror in Helena’s voice but the confusion she felt in being proven wrong. She was sure that the inventor had to be early in her pregnancy. Even if Christina had been premature, in all likelihood, Helena would be pregnant by now. _Unless they forged the birth records and she just never got around to telling me,_ Myka reasoned doubtfully. Aloud, she had to ask once more, “You’re sure, Helena? I wouldn’t judge you.”

“You are very queer,” HG commented suspiciously. “Why do you sound as if you are disappointed? What do you know?” She added, her mind wrapping itself once more around the conundrum that was Myka Bering.

The heady air around them dissipated in just a few short minutes, leaving an awkward silence in its wake. Myka attempted to apologise, to brush the exchange aside and excuse it with the effects of fatigue, but the inventor’s thoughts were twisting, questioning the sanity behind the idea of letting herself get close to this familiar stranger.

Several attempts were made to start a new topic but when one of Helena’s friends begged her company, Myka noticed through the excuses that the inventor was relieved to go.

Heart sinking as she kicked herself for pushing the topic, Myka tried to breathe through the sudden stinging behind her eyes and decided that a glass of water and a walk around the room would keep her too occupied to dwell on the hurt that pulled inside her chest.

Very little could keep her from seeking Helena’s figure as she moved, seemingly at ease around the room. When Charles eventually ushered his sister back to Myka’s side, the American had taken up position as a wallflower between an antique clock and a bookcase.

“I hate to inflict her sullenness upon you, Mrs Bering, but my sister appears to be revelling rather too eagerly and I would hate to see her burn out before the night is over,” Charles declared pompously as he gave the inventor one last poke in the back and left to find his own entertainment.

Helena looked at everything bar Myka for a drawn out moment before scoffing and laughing humourlessly. “ _Mrs Bering_. Do you not despise that name? Does it not make you want to say to hell with marriage?”

Those bitterly spoken words made Myka realise that the Victorian was at least a little bit drunk. The relief she felt at being close to the Brit again eclipsed any concern she still harboured. “Bering is my maiden name,” she reminded the Brit in a whisper. “It probably won't be my married name.”

“Wells is a good name,” Helena continued, shooting a sidelong glance at the brunette to gage her reaction.

Myka smiled despite herself and tried to hide it behind her glass. “Yes, it is,” she conceded.

“Mrs Wells sounds too much like my mother though… Wells-Bering,” she muttered in the kind of inebriated whisper that alcohol-fuelled people fancy as quiet.

“Bering-Wells,” Myka responded automatically, before attempting to cover the utterance with a cough.

Whether Helena heard her or not was up for debate but what followed was a series of flirtatious remarks that left Myka in no doubt as to where the inventor’s mind wanted to take them.

“Stop it,” the future agent flushed at the last throwaway innuendo, feeling her heart race despite her determination not to let the Victorian get a rise out of her. She decided that it was time they stopped playing around. She wasn’t sure about Helena, but she’d had more of this push and pull than she could take.

Feigning ignorance, HG smiled, her eyes penetrating. “Stop what, darling?”

“I’m not going to follow you to bed, Helena,” Myka hissed from the corner of her mouth.

“My!” Delightedly shocked, the raven-haired inventor chuckled. “You are forward! Did I suggest such a thing?” Beneath her lashes she added, “That wouldn’t be very lady-like of me now, would it?”

Green eyes rolled in their sockets, a sardonic looking pinning HG. “You don’t have to say anything; I know what you’re thinking.”

“That says more about where your thoughts are than mine.” Helena teased, still feeling mischievous. The development of the evening’s events and the addition of the wine had made her bolder than usual. Forgetting all about consequences, she pushed on, whispering, “Besides, what I was going to suggest would not necessarily require a bed.”

Myka blushed a deeper shade of pink. She almost wished that she didn’t have the experience and the associated images to go with that suggestion.

“Admit it; you’re intrigued.”

Helena was grinning at her now. It was both arousing and insufferable. “You’ve got a high opinion of yourself, haven’t you?”

Noting the tone of dismissal, HG felt her confidence wane. An abrupt wave of resentment accompanied it. _This woman!_ “Should I shy away; hide my talents; take a husband and rot away in obscurity while I birth his children and keep his home? Am I not free to find my own pleasures?”

“This pleases you? Seducing your guests?” The ire behind Helena’s voice touched a nerve in Myka and her eidetic memory chose that moment to remind her that she was in a house full of people who were potentially the Victorian’s past, present or future lovers. Excluding Charles and Oscar.

“Tell me you’re not interested, not even a smidge,” Helena’s ego insisted.

Myka looked squarely down at her feet again, mumbling, “I won’t lie.”

Her voice stamping its foot petulantly, HG asked, “Then why do you continue to resist? Why deny yourself companionship?”

“I believe in fidelity, Miss. Wells, and what you’re offering is not the kind of companionship I’m interested in; it only goes skin deep.” Sure that the Victorian couldn’t possibly feel the depth of emotion that she and her fiancée had grown into over time, the American pushed aside her desire and put her foot down.

Feeling that rejection hit harder, Helena bit her tongue on the cusp of blurting out the recent realisation that she was head over heels in love with Myka. “I could make you feel things you’ve never felt before,” she tried as a last ditch attempt.

Looking regretfully into dark eyes, the brunette stepped back and nodded. “I don’t doubt it.”

Myka sighed this time as Helena excused herself and wandered off dejectedly. She couldn’t blame the inventor for being irritable. She knew that her behaviour said the exact opposite of her words but she couldn’t seem to help herself either way. Like a magnet, something drew her closer to Helena and when they were apart, there was a chasm where her partner should be, yet she still couldn’t allow these base desires to dictate her actions altogether. There was still a voice in the back of her mind that feared the collapse of everything she’d come to love if she let herself go.

Perhaps there was some way she could explain this to Helena without letting her know that she was from the future. There had to be something she could do. Something she could say to make the young inventor feel less conflicted.

For the first time in her life, Myka pushed off the wall and proceeded to search for the raven-haired woman without a fully formed plan in her head.

* * * * *

HG wandered swiftly through gathered friends and acquaintances, heading unseen to a sanctuary of some sort. Overwhelmed by her thoughts and feelings, she had difficultly focussing on where she was heading. She missed the door that opened on her right, didn’t see the man standing in the aperture and only came to her senses when a hand reached out to drag her in.

“What the devil!?” She protested as she found herself in her brother’s study. She spun around, ready to incapacitate whoever thought they could attack her. Upon seeing her abductor, she relaxed. “Oh it’s you, Dicky. You’re bloody lucky I didn’t break your sodding arm just now,” she warned him but there was a lack of fire in her tone that made her words fall short of their mark.

Richard looked over his friend and lover, taking in her emotional distress and the slight listing to her usually well-controlled posture and gait. “I could believe that if you were not so obviously squiffy, HG.”

Glaring, Helena approached the journalist and poked an indignant finger into his chest. “You! All of you!” She waved a hand erratically in the air her eyes narrowing as her mind latched onto the first she could think to complain about. “You imagine yourselves so superior. We’re all just play things to you aren’t we? Convenient when you recall our presence. You’d be bloody lost without us!” She turned too quickly and had to grab his shoulder to steady herself.

Letting her lean on him, Mr Phelps guided Helena to a love-seat in the corner of the room. He had hoped for a few minutes with her away from prying eyes to discuss her intention to write and how they might find a publisher if she were willing to use Charles as the face for her works. The last time they’d met for business, they had not been as cautious as they should have and he soon found himself explaining his actions to a couple of Mrs Wells’ bullies. He didn’t want a repeat of that incident. It was only for Helena’s sake that he hadn’t immediately written about it for his paper.

Usually, he liked the feisty inventor like this, ranting and full of fire, but this time he detected something beneath her words; a genuine pain that gave his libido pause. “I do believe I’ve heard this tune before. Sing me a new one, HG. What’s this all about?” To his horror, her dark, angry eyes filled with tears and she slowly looked away, dropping her face into both hands. “Bugger it, Helena. Is it that woman? What’s her name? Mia?”

“Myka,” came the inventor’s muffled voice.

“Mya?”

“Myka!” Helena spat, taking her hands from her face. She searched fruitlessly for something to wipe her tears on. “May I have your billy?” She finally asked. He handed her his handkerchief and she turned to wipe away the evidence of her sorrows. “I apologise, Richard. I do not mean to take my mood out on you.”

“I’m quite used to it,” he reminded her, sparking a watery smile.

“You’re used to being the target of my ire and... other things, not for me blubbering all over you,” she quantified.

“So?” He began again. “Is it the woman? Has she spurned your advances and bruised your ego?”

“No. Yes... I don’t know.” She sighed deeply and confessed, “She confuses me.”

Richard frowned. “You were in the cradle the last time someone confused you. Tell me it’s not the dreaded ‘L’, Helena.” He took one look at her slow, pained nod and pretended to recoil. “Bother. What on Earth are you to do? Should I even be this close to you? It could be catching. Ouch!”

She jabbed him sharply in the arm, bringing his teasing to an abrupt halt. “What _am_ I to do?” She asked plaintively.

“I didn’t think _you_ would let yourself fall for a married woman, HG,” he commented, rubbing the sore spot on his arm.

“She’s not,” HG mumbled.

“Not what?”

“Married,” she finished. “Not yet.” Helena watched a sceptical expression appear on her friend’s face and stood up to begin pacing. “She claims to be engaged. Norrie and I helped her make up some cock and bull story about a husband who is my grandfather’s business associate and is detained in France in order to smooth out relations in one of their factories but in reality, I’ve heard nothing about the man if indeed he even exists! I realise that I must sound like a lunatic. However, I am positive that she is hiding something.”

Richard thought over her words and stood slowly. “Does it make a difference?”

“Yes, of course it sodding well makes a difference!” Helena argued. She took several steps across the room and back before her expression fell. “Does it not?”

He shrugged slightly, surprised that he’d managed to get her attention. “If she denies your advances, is the reason important?”

Raising an eyebrow, HG stared at her friend. “You are suggesting that in my position, I cannot win so I should cut my losses?”

“In a nut shell. Win some, lose some?” he added tentatively. Not being a great romantic himself, he couldn’t quite empathise with her difficulties but he appreciated that she was not happy and needed his support. He moved closer and gathered her familiar figure into his arms. Hugs were not something they indulged in but this situation wasn’t like their usual contact. “What do I know about it, Helena? If I were you though, I would not let her dance around with this any longer. You deserve to know where you stand.”

HG laughed miserably into his chest and breathed slowly.

Fate, it seemed, had its own game to play, and just as the teary-eyed woman decided to look up and thank her friend for supporting her at this confusing time, the door opened and the American’s head appeared around its edge, her eyes searching desperately.

When Myka’s eyes found Helena, they zeroed in on what would have appeared to any outsider as a lovers’ embrace. The couple’s heads turned and the inventor felt her heart drop like a stone into her stomach.

“Myka?” she tried, but a curly-haired head was already whipping out of sight.

 


	15. Chapter 15

The library. If she had been in any better shape to think about where she currently found herself, Myka would have smiled. As it was, she could have been on Mars for all the attention she paid to her surroundings.

She was vaguely aware that her cheeks were wet and her vision was blurry but all that she could really process was the scene she had just interrupted. Was it him? Was he Christina’s father? Was Helena supposed to be spending this evening in _his_ arms? No amount of wishful thinking was going to rid her of this image. She felt it burning into the backs of her eyelids. It was Nate all over again, only now a fierce voice, probably lodged somewhere in her amygdala, screamed ‘Helena is mine!’ with all the force of a pneumatic drill.

Except, this time’s Helena wasn’t really hers, was she? _This_ Helena belonged to the past, to Warehouse 12; to the Victorian era where Myka still struggled to acclimatise herself; to her disapproving peers and secret lovers; to a life that would soon be turned upside-down when an unexpected but much loved little girl arrived, screaming and kicking.

Yanking her hair from its confines, Myka suddenly felt a need to slip into her own clothes and drop this charade once and for all. She pressed firm fingertips into her scalp and wandered over to the window. Heat crept over her from the roaring fire but she felt more like the grounds outside, cold – frozen in her miserable state.

* * * * *

“Myka!” Helena tried again, her body repelling itself from her ex-lover’s arms and aiming to follow the woman she couldn’t get out of her head. Strong hands wrapped around her upper arms and held her back. “Damn it Richard, let go of me or I swear I will...”

“Nothing,” Phelps interrupted, continuing to hold tight. “You will do nothing, Helena except calm down because I am trying to help you.”

A low sound, like a growl, came from deep inside his friend and, sighing with exasperation, he let go. He watched her shoot towards the door again with the energy of a woman possessed, but as her hand reached the handle, she slowed and stopped.

Several heartbeats thumped by before she turned back.

“How were you intending to help me?” Helena finally asked.

Every fibre of her being demanded that she not waste any more time with distractions and chase after the one thing that seemed to make her entire existence worth living. Seeing the anguish on Myka’s face made all the questions evaporate. There were many things she didn’t know, something that pained her to admit, but what she did know was that her heart belonged to Myka now and it was about time the American knew it.

Still, there was just enough common sense left beneath this urgency to listen to a voice she trusted.

“HG, you can’t run amok around this house, shouting her name. It would be disastrous enough with only the servants here, but before all of your guests? Regardless of their open-mindedness, it would be social suicide,” he explained, his tone pleading.

The inventor rolled her eyes. “You think I care for theirs or anyone else’s opinions?” She started back towards the door but Richard’s words stopped her again.

“ _You_ may not care but does she? Have you not just regaled me this evening with all the trouble you and your grandmother went through to keep her out of the limelight and exonerate her good name?”

“Bollocks,” Helena muttered. “Very well. What do you propose?”

“Give her a few minutes to settle. She will most likely find somewhere away from the crowds to do... whatever it is that women do when they are alone and upset.” He watched dark eyes narrow dangerously and quickly continued. “In the meantime, I will rejoin the other guests and you can find your brother. I imagine people will begin to leave soon. I’m sure you can convince Charles to make excuses for you while you search for your lady.”

Seeing the wisdom in his words, she nodded succinctly. “Right. I will find Charles.”

Once again, her hand touched the door only for her attention to be called back. She huffed her annoyance, ready to offer the journalist a piece of her mind... or her foot, until she saw his expression and felt her features soften.

“I suppose it goes without saying that you intend to revoke our arrangement?” he half-asked, almost certain that any relationship she tried to have with Myka would mean the end of their affair.

Uncharacteristically, HG was lost for words. She hadn’t given his feelings in the matter any consideration. “Whether she will have me or not, I am hers... I did enjoy our time together,” she added, hoping that her words would offer some sort of consolation. She had never imagined that her sporadic lover would ever grow so attached to her.

Swallowing his unexpected disappointment, Richard forced forth his most charming smile. “As did I. That’s all that matters now I suppose. Get along then, HG.” He waved her towards the exit, winking as he added, “Faint heart never won fair maiden.”

While she shook her head with amusement at his words, Helena stood on tiptoes to place a parting kiss on his cheek. Seconds later, she was through the door with only one concern on her mind.

Charles was easy to harangue into doing her bidding and Richard had been right in his prediction about the mass exodus of guests. She had been lucky to miss Marietta’s farewell, catching sight of her carriage pulling away so that she only had time to offer up a half-hearted wave. She hated to admit it but perhaps her brother had been correct to highlight her mistake in inviting the flighty actress. It was one less thing to worry about now however.

Struggling not to appear too agitated, Helena whispered the simple instructions to her brother and took off through the house to find the missing brunette. More than one acquaintance caught her in her search and assumed that she was looking for them. With considerably more patience than she felt, the inventor listened politely for a minute to their inane chatter before making her apologies and pointing them in the direction of her sibling. If she hadn’t needed so badly to keep her task low profile, she would have simply pushed passed the lot of them.

As it was, the time it took for her to look through all of the ground floor rooms and eventually arrive at the first floor library felt far too long. Half an hour had passed since the unfortunate scene in Charles’ study and she feared what she would find when she eventually located the American.

* * * * *

Myka heard the footsteps before the handle of the door turned so that it swung open. Even guessing who it had to be, she closed her eyes and held her breath. The click of a lock forced them open again and she turned to find her future fiancée walking steadily towards her, a cautious expression on the Brit’s face. When she spoke, HG’s warm, inviting accent tugged at the brunette’s heart.

“Myka?”A dozen thoughts and emotions vied for dominance as Helena absorbed the solemn air around the woman before her. Her earlier annoyance had loitered in the back of her mind, picking over every inconsistency and half-truth that followed Myka around, but something about being in her presence calmed that particular demon so that all that remained was her concern. “Might I have a moment to explain? What you witnessed back there, it wasn’t what you might think.”

The taller woman winced internally as she imagined what she must have looked like from Helena’s point of view. Here she was again, expecting loyalty from someone she had no genuine claim on. “I’m sorry,” she began, trying in vain to keep the mournful, scratchy quality of her voice hidden. Misery made it difficult to speak. “I shouldn’t have barged in and overreacted. I only wanted to explain and apologise for before. For what I said and didn’t say. For letting you think tha...” Try as she might to hold back the flood waters, Myka’s words were cut off as she twisted her fingers together and stared down at the windowsill.

The unexpected apology had stopped the Brit in her tracks but now that Myka was crying again, she felt her feet move forward. “Darling, if you feel about us the way that I do then you have every reason to be upset for believing me wanting the attentions of another,” she declared boldly, and then deciding to pull out all the stops, she added, “If your betrothed were here at this moment, I would no doubt have difficulty holding my countenance too. I think if he chose to put his arms around you I might... hit him with a very large book!”

The American’s frozen expression of awe and surprise cracked and broke into a bark of manic amusement. “Oh God, that would be a sight to see,” she remarked, forgetting for a moment her audience as she wiped away fresh tears.

Helena took a brave step forward so she was standing within the curly-haired woman’s bubble. “If it makes you laugh rather than cry, I will gladly knock his block off. I have to addend though; I have concern for the implications of you enjoying your future husband’s potential injuries.”

Helena had moved well into her personal space by now, placing both hands on her shoulders. Being far too tired and emotionally drained to resist, Myka leant forward and rested her head against the Brit’s collar, her hands swinging forward of their own volition to grasp lightly at dark-green fabric. “It’s not like that,” she murmured softly into a pale neck. “I can’t explain.”

“You are a mystery wrapped within an enigma. How much are you deliberately keeping from me?” HG asked, needing at least some answers. She wanted to gather the foreigner into her arms and keep her there forever but she was very aware of not wanting to spook her and spoil the light embrace they were in.

Studying the figure from the door barely minutes ago, she had felt her insides twist at the beauty before her. The American had let down her hair and the light from the fire bounced off its wild tendrils. Now that they were so close, she could smell the combination of soap and the woman’s natural scent, the effect of which was a desire to feel them pressed so close together that they wouldn’t know where either of them ended or began.

“A lot,” Myka admitted, feeling a sense of release along with the utterance. Feeling bold once more in Helena’s arms and more than a little curious, she turned her head to the side so that she could be heard. “You wanted to explain,” she prompted.

HG bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from demanding answers. _Give and take,_ she thought to herself. _I can do that._ “Richard saw my distress after leaving you and offered his advice. We are no longer lovers but he is still a trusted friend.” She barely paused before opening another enquiry of her own. “Is there truly a future Mr Myka Bering, or whatever you name would be?” She felt the other woman sigh and shivered at the warm breath that brushed her collar.

“It’s complicated,” Myka finally removed her head from its resting place and stood face to face with the inventor. She saw the open frustration in those intense eyes and wanted, no needed to say something to try and aid the Victorian’s understanding. Her fingers reached to brush against a pale cheek before coming to rest along her jaw. “I know that’s not helpful. I know that you have to have noticed all the holes and inconsistencies in the things I say and do. One day, Helena, I hope that you’ll have all the pieces and you’ll understand why I’ve kept so much from you. It’s not been easy, I want to tell you so much, believe me... That time isn’t now though.”

The genuine regret she saw in green eyes went somewhere towards appeasing the aspiring writer and she bit back the tumble of unfavourable words that immediately came to mind. Her mind drifted back to the moment she’d wanted to chase after Myka when she was seen in Dicky’s arms; answers had ceased to be a priority when all of her concern had been for Myka’s welfare. That realisation left her with only one more question. For now. “Then please, darling, allow me one satisfactory answer. Do you love me as I love you?”

Myka swore in that moment that her heart stopped beating. Looking into the Brit’s eyes, she no longer saw a stranger who would one day become the woman she wanted to spend her life with, she only saw her partner, _her_ Helena. She swallowed, her body leaning into the inventor, their foreheads coming to rest together as Helena’s fingers slid along her shoulders and around her neck.

“Always,” Myka whispered.

Not recalling which of them made the first move, Myka found herself melting at the feel of fingers in her hair, her hands sliding around a petite waist as soft lips met and danced with her own.

Helena ignored the part of her brain that wanted to dissect the American’s answer, focussing only on the sensation of the brunette’s body moulding to her own and the fact that her feelings were requited. Myka’s hands held her close, one on her lower back and the other just inches below her neck. Having imagined that she would be the one to take control, HG was surprised by the confidence in her companion’s movements. She had never been kissed like this before.

Despite the firm pressure against her back, Myka’s embrace was tender and gentle as she kissed the corner’s of Helena’s open mouth and captured her lips over and over, sliding along their length, pushing forward sporadically to devour the lot before retreating to start all over again. HG was lost on a storm and after trying for a while to keep up, she simply let go and floated on each cresting wave of rising desire.

Neither showed any consideration for time passing. At some point, Helena felt Myka’s tongue probing along the underside of her lip and her knees buckled. The next time she recalled being aware of their surroundings, they were entwined on the couch in front of the fire, the crackling flames creating a counterpoint for their soft moans and gasping breaths. Her hands had migrated further south, journeying over the sides of ribs and waist until coming to rest either side of the American’s swollen belly. Myka’s had taken the opposite route and now cradled each side of her jaw, guiding her through every increasingly passionate meeting of their mouths.

Helena recognised the point of no return when she began stroking upwards toward the underside of Myka’s breasts and the brunette’s subsequent moan vibrated directly to the throbbing bundle of nerves between her legs. Though she knew instinctively that her love would refuse to stay the night, for once, she didn’t want her first encounter with someone to culminate in a brief, explosive event on the nearest surface. The way Myka made her insides roll with desire, she wanted to take her time and explore this sensation properly.

So it was that, over the next little while, HG slowly withdrew, fighting against her arousal and need to feel more of this woman around her, inside her. She found the brunette’s wandering hands with her own and held them tight, kissing each knuckle tenderly before bringing them to rest against her chest, inches from her rapidly beating heart. Soft lips returned to pulling gently against her own and she suddenly became aware of Myka’s reluctance to end their embrace. With great effort, the inventor tore her mouth away and moved her head so that their cheeks were pressed together. Eyes closed, she held still and simply breathed.

“Myka,” she whispered once she found the ability to speak again. A soft ‘hmm?’ was the only response. “What would you say if I asked you to stay with me tonight?”

She felt the body against hers sag slightly and knew she had her answer. Despite the carnal monster amongst her thoughts who raged against her decision to stop when things had been heating up so well, she knew that she’d made the best decision for both of them. Myka was clearly still conflicted over the secrets she kept and Helena knew that it would break her if she woke up to see regret staring back at her in the morning.

Sighing against raven hair, the future agent considered her answer. Without time to think, she might very well have followed Helena to bed after all, but with her senses returning, she felt duty bound to go. “I would say that I want nothing more than to stay, but must leave.”

HG nodded but made no effort to move. Who knew when they would have another opportunity to be this close? She was determined to make the most of it.

In the end, it was the sound of someone trying to open the locked door that drew them apart. They both smiled at the mumbled apology, recognising Charles’ tone but now that the spell was broken, they had little choice but to retreat.

Myka was the first to stand, rising with caution on shaky legs. She reached up to touch her wild curls and frowned. “Christ, I must look like a gorgon with this hair.”

Helena refrained from commenting, knowing that she would give away far too many of her thoughts by uttering the compliments that immediately sprang to mind. Spotting a discarded comb, she stood and approached the American from behind. “Here,” she said gently. “Let me.”

Green eyes slid shut at the feel of those hands in her hair once more but Myka had little time to really enjoy it before they were gone again.

“There, all set,” Helena declared tightly, throwing her hands behind her back to prevent them from wandering.

“Thank you,” Myka responded as she carefully checked the state of her hair and smiled. She knew that the time to leave had arrived but her feet felt like they were trapped in tar. “Will I see you tomorrow?” She blurted without thinking. Her stomach muscles tightened; she couldn’t bear the thought of being without her partner for another day.

Helena smiled softly and nodded. “I can always think of a reason to visit with my grandmother and I did promise a certain young person that I would pop by soon.” Her words were rewarded with a brilliant smile and before she could register the move, soft lips were pressing against her own again.

Acting on impulse, Myka held Helena’s face between her palms and stole a final kiss. She paused only for a second when they parted before whispering a heartfelt ‘I love you’ and retreating to the door. It unlocked smoothly and she pulled it open, stepping halfway out before the sound of her name beckoned.

“I love you too, darling,” HG told the green-eyes beauty, watching hungrily as another smile appeared before the door closed and she was gone.

* * * * *

Barely aware of what she said to whom, Myka soon found herself back at the Wells elders’ estate. While still downstairs, she used the WC and then quietly withdrew to her room where she stood for several minutes, watching the rise and fall of the quilt where her daughter slept.

While Helena’s arms had surrounded her and lips had held her under their spell, she conveniently forgot all about her concerns for the future. It was as if her mind was being manipulated by outside forces. Not making her do things she didn’t want to do but rather, removing obstacles and inhibitions that normally gave her control over her actions. How long had this been going on? Had the blissful hours in Helena’s company been a mistake after all? Even now, she realised that her thoughts were not entirely her own and looked down to where her hand tingled still, finding her engagement ring glowing with a fierce energy.

Panic consumed her suddenly and she clawed without thinking at the cherished gift, ripping it from her finger and casting it into a far off corner of the room.

Hands clenched against her chest, the agent managed to shuffle towards the bottom of the bed where she perched for several minutes trying to bring her breathing back under control. Tears stung her eyes, her reawakened thoughts bringing her full circle to Christina’s fate and the consequences for Helena’s presence in the twenty-first century. Guilt churned inside her again as she thought about how selfish her actions tonight had been. Yet, the memory of the inventor’s body pressed against hers soothed her. The constant conflict of her thoughts made her want to dig them out.

What did her ring have to do with that? Mrs Fredrick had tested them and had deemed them safe, had said they were made for her, so did that mean the Warehouse was using her? Did it not want HG Wells to be a part of Warehouse 13?

“Mama?”

Myka jerked at the small sound coming from the bed and turned to see concerned eyes looking her way. Had she been crying aloud? “Yes, my sweet, it’s me.”

The young girl’s sleep-laden limbs moved heavily as she rolled over a little and tried to see her mother better. “Are you alright?”

Having used the precious few seconds while Christina was shuffling about to wipe her eyes, the adult found a leg beneath the covers and squeezed it reassuringly. “You know me,” she forced a smile. “I cry at the drop of a hat these days. I’m just tired. I’m coming to bed now so go back to sleep.”

The eight-year-old mumbled something unintelligible and flopped into her pillow. Slowly gathering her jumbled senses, Myka made an effort to slip out of her clothes and into a nightshirt. She completed her ablutions as quietly as possible and finally crawled under the covers beside her precious angel.

Visions of the night’s events and concerns for the consequences plagued her thoughts. As a dull headache throbbed along her temples, she felt her body shiver and sweat in fits so that sleep eluded her until the rise of a new day touched the horizon. All the while, from the corner of the room, one half of a curiosity continued to pulse.

* * * * *

Christina’s eyes fluttered open to a room that was still fairly dull in the weak light of the early winter’s dawn. She squirmed under the covers, unsure what had woken her until she realised how hot she felt. Throwing back the quilt, she tensed as the usual chill of the room hit her and then relaxed in relief. Looking around, she noticed her mother’s discarded outfit from the night before and turned to see her. She vaguely remembered them saying goodnight.

A sleepy smile soon became a frown as the eight-year-old looked down upon her Mama’s face, which was pinched with discomfort. Sweat covered the adult’s brow, sticking curly hair to her skin.

“Mama?” Christina knelt over her mother, her thoughts turning anxious as Myka continued to twitch in her sleep but didn’t respond. She waited for a minute and then shook the adult’s shoulders, almost shouting her name this time. “Mama! It’s morning. It’s time to wake up.”

The temperature in the room had seeped through her nightshirt so she was beginning to shiver now but Myka was still sweating. Knowing that she needed to fetch someone who could call for a doctor, Christina pulled the covers half way down and hesitated only a second before skidding from the room.

She remembered distinctly which room belonged to her great grandparents and hammered on the door without forethought. Percy appeared from the direction of the stairs and attempted to gently shoo her away, but the moment Rupert opened the door to investigate, she shot passed him and darted towards the bed.

“Now then,” Mr Wells began in shock. “What’s all this fuss about?” He looked confused, gazing between the child and his gentleman’s gentleman.

Eleanor sat slowly up in bed, took one look at the expression on the girl’s face and gave her full attention. “What is it, my dear?”

Christina almost sobbed with relief when she found no resistance from the adults and somewhere deep inside, congratulated herself for not bothering to worry about etiquette. “Mama’s ill,” she blurted without preamble. “She had a fever and she won’t wake.”

Concern and adrenaline provided her aging bones with enough energy to forego her usually gentle morning routine, letting Mrs Wells rise from her bed without too much trouble. She threw on her robe and led the procession to the guests’ room. There she found Myka, partially uncovered and with a fine sheen of sweat dampening her skin. One look at her flushed features and she barely needed to put hand to forehead to know the girl’s concern had been valid.

The men had remained by the door, conversing in hushed tones until Eleanor called out to them. “Percy. Be swift; fetch Dr Gravestock.” She heard him head off to see to his task and looked over the patient once more, considering her actions. Knowing that the eight-year-old would want to be of use, she instructed her to find Polly and return with a bowl of cold water and some flannels. Finally, she met her husband at the door.

“How does it look?” He asked, gentle concern colouring his gaze.

“It’s as the child said; she has a fever.” Eleanor glanced back into the room, a frown marring her features. “We need to bring her temperature down.”

“Is it the Scarletina? Is it safe for the girl to be in there?” Rupert considered abruptly.

“I dearly hope not, though perhaps we _should_ consider separating them as a precaution. She will need Christina more than ever if she comes through this.” She didn’t want to say it aloud, didn’t want to voice her fear, but she had rarely heard of a new mother surviving an illness as aggressive as this with their unborn unharmed. Those babes she knew that had survived to birth were often damaged in some way.

“Christina will not leave her mother’s side so readily,” Rupert warned knowingly. “We are going to have a fight on our hands.”

Mrs Wells nodded. “Love, I need you to write to Helena. She will still be in bed no doubt but she will come running when she hears that Myka has taken ill. I would rather not worry her before we know what is wrong but she will want to know and it is my hope that her presence will keep Christina somewhat calm.” She smiled as her husband squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“It will be done,” he responded and took off towards his study.

Christina returned shortly after and Eleanor somehow managed to persuade her to remained near the door with Polly, at least until the doctor had arrived and given his diagnosis. As she sat by Myka’s side and used the damp cloths to try and bring her temperature down, she considered this sudden illness and the implications for Helena, the Warehouse and the future.

Up until now, she had taken it on faith that Myka and Christina would return to the twenty-first century little worse for their adventure into the past, but now she found that faith being shaken. Was this part of the Warehouse’s plan for her family, a kind of baptism by fire? Even if the mystical entity did possess an element of sentience, did that make it omnipotent? Could it prevent the unexpected?

She felt the American’s twitching relax slightly and knew that the compresses were beginning to work. As the young mother was drenched in sweat, her temperature could easily begin to fall too rapidly so Eleanor removed the thicker quilts and recovered her with something light and dry. She felt Myka’s forehead and was satisfied that there was little else she could do for the time being so put the bowl to one side and retreated to where the concerned onlookers waited.

“Polly, I need you to inform Mrs Pink that, once the doctor had been, we will need a fresh set of linens for Mrs Bering. The soiled ones will need to be boiled, do you understand?” Her expression was stern but patient as she looked at the young maid.

“Yes ma’am,” the young woman replied, repeating the instructions before she was dismissed.

“Now then, little Miss,” the regent took a seat on the small love seat and beckoned the stricken girl closer. She waited patiently until Christina climbed up slowly next to her. “You will want to help you mother, I know. However, you must understand that the best possible solution is to ensure that you remain healthy and safe.” She looked down into an obdurate expression and was reminded so strongly of Helena that she almost laughed. Instead, she merely raised an eyebrow, showing that she wasn’t the least bit intimidated. Christina eventually lowered her gaze and stared at the hands in her lap. “We don’t want her to recover only to find that you have taken ill too, do we?”

Christina remained stubbornly silent for a moment before common sense prevailed and she nodded. “Will she get better?” She leant into the adult’s side, her fingers wrapping around the sleeve of her robe.

“We will do everything in our power to make that happen,” Eleanor answered without conviction. “The doctor should be here shortly and I’ve asked Mr Wells to send for my granddaughter. She is rather knowledgeable and useful in situations such as this.”

It took the distracted girl a few seconds to connect the dots but after a brief pause, she glanced up at the regent with hope. She felt better already, knowing that her Mummy would be there.

The inventor arrived hot on the heels of the doctor and spent several minutes arguing with him once he’d finished his examination and hypothesised several possible causes.

The blissful, if confused state that Myka had left her in the previous evening, disappeared the moment she received her grandfather’s note. Contrary to Norie’s assumption that she would still be in bed, she had not entered her own room save to change into some more comfortable clothes. The remainder of the night, she had spent in the library, alternating between reading, napping and staring off into space as she sighed through pleasant memories.

In those wakeful moments, while her thoughts jumped between kisses and secrets, she began to feel a clarity that had eluded her until now. The timing of Myka and Christina’s arrival coincided with several subtle changes, both in her personal life and within the Warehouse. She had been so taken with this beautiful stranger, so consumed by her own conflicted emotions, that she hadn’t begun to actively connect any of it until now.

Something tugged at her brain; a tentative link that she wasn’t sure she wanted to examine too closely. As innocent as her grandmother always appeared to be, HG had a gut feeling that the old woman was involved somehow. Whether it was just with the matriarch’s guests or as part of a wider picture, she needed to find out.

It could still all be coincidence of course, but as she stood at the foot of Myka’s bed now and considered this mysterious illness and the American’s reluctance to divulge secrets that hinted at Helena’s involvement somehow, the inventor knew that she had reached the point where she would demand answers. She just needed Myka to get well again.


	16. Chapter 16

After Mrs Pink saw to the linens and Mrs Bering’s sleep attire, Helena sat by Myka’s bed and continued the task of keeping her temperature normal. Any time she took a break for a few minutes, cautious of not wanting her love to be too cold, the woman in the bed quickly began to overheat again. She worked diligently for an hour in silence, the only sounds she was aware of were Myka’s shallow breathing and the unnaturally loud beating of her own heart.

It occurred to her during this time that, though she had only known this woman two short weeks and spent a mere handful of hours in total in her presence, her life would be torturous to withstand without her. She felt like she would move planets if she could find a way, just to make sure that Myka remained an integral part of her existence.

She’d lost count of how many times she’d lifted a cloth to that forehead; how many bowls of cold water had been refilled. Susan came to relieve her at midday and for once, there were no antagonising or admonishing words passed between them. Helena reluctantly relinquished her seat and offered to remove the used cloths to add to the wash.

She had a brief word with the kitchen staff, enquiring after lunch before finding her way to the school room where Christina had been ordered to stay with Polly. She stood in the doorway, watching solemnly. While with the girl’s mother, HG had given almost no concern for what others were doing around her but now it struck her that her grandmother was conspicuous by her absence. Hadn’t she mentioned something about spending time with her young guest?

She could see that the maid was trying her best to engage the eight-year-old in anything that might take her mind off what was happening elsewhere, but the dark haired girl was clearly too mired in her concerns to show interest.

Feeling compelled, Helena abandoned her vigil by the door and found a space on the only sofa in the room, close enough but not intruding on the two at the desk if they chose to ignore her. One glance from Christina though and she knew that her presence was more than welcome; there was a longing in those familiarly dark eyes that called to her.

“Polly,” HG said softly, gaining the woman’s full attention. “I think your assistance in the kitchen will be much appreciated while Mrs Pink attends to our patient.” She saw blue eyes dart to her charge and smiled a little at the realisation that the red head had come to care for the youngster. “I will send for you if I’m needed elsewhere,” she reassured her.

“Yes, Miss Wells,” Polly answered obediently, leaving the two alone.

Christina was already half in Helena’s lap before the door closed behind the maid, her hands wrapped around the lapels of the adult’s shirt and a head wedged firmly between shoulder and neck.

Stumped only for a moment by the surprising reaction, the inventor recovered quickly and wrapped her arms firmly around the figure trembling against her. No words were exchanged as she buried her face in wavy locks and breathed a scent that was altogether comforting and overwhelming. She rocked gently back and forth and whispered reassurances that she wasn’t sure she could keep.

“Try not to worry, darling. I know it’s distressing but we will find out what ails your mother and then restore her to full health before you know it.”

Christina shifted so that she was sitting mostly on the couch with her side flush against the inventor’s and her head against an inviting shoulder. “How did she get poorly? Was it because of her being dizzy yesterday? Will I catch it?”

Helena looked down into inquisitive eyes and frowned. Myka had lost her equilibrium as they greeted one another the day before but she assumed that was something to do with the American’s reaction to her close proximity. Could the brunette have been coming down with this fever then? “I think that will depend on the cause. Hopefully, it is not too serious,” she offered gently. “We will simply have to stay vigilant and look for signs of illness.”

“Grandma Elle says that I have to stay away in case of infection.”

“She’s being cautious.” Helena explained. “Fevers are known to affect children more adversely than adults.”

There was a quiet moment as the young girl took this in before she sat up, heightened worry colouring her expression. “What about the babies?” She cried. No matter how much she might worry that her siblings were going to negatively affect her life, she couldn’t help feeling responsible for them. “They can’t look after themselves yet.”

HG’s mouth opened and closed as her brain prioritised the things she wanted to say in response to this outburst. _She’s expecting twins?_ She swallowed her exasperation that the surprises concerning Myka kept coming. “We’re doing everything we can to bring her temperature down. It will help until we have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.” She stared into a horrified gaze until she decided that sitting around to wait out the results was doing nothing to help either of them. “I propose that we attend lunch to gain some sustenance and then return to your mother’s room. If you give me your word to stay by the door, I will let you accompany me.”

“I promise,” Christina announced immediately. She was going stir crazy being locked up with Polly, no matter how nice the maid was. “I can help carry clean water,” she added to her cause.

Though not particularly hungry herself, Helena made a show of finishing her lunch as the two of them sat at the dining table alone. Eleanor had yet to return from her impromptu departure and after being assured that there was nothing more he could do to aid his guest at home, Rupert had left to see to business in one of his factories. The inventor, though not experienced in caring for a child, wanted to do her very best to see that Myka’s pride and joy was well looked after.

They returned to what had now become the invalid room and, true to her word, Christina took one quick look at her Mama’s unchanged status and curled up on the couch at the far side of the room while HG relieved Mrs Pink and instantly placed her hand against Myka’s forehead to gage her temperature. Susan had attended to the invalid as well as any of them and HG could feel the difference the cold compresses were making, but within a minute, the brunette’s temperature began to rise again.

Helena glanced over at Christina and just as she thought to adopt a brave face, something glittered from the corner of the room, catching her eye. Quickly placing a new cloth on Myka’s forehead, she left the side of the bed and hastened to search for whatever she had seen.

“What is it?” Christina asked curiously.

HG reached behind a side table and pulled the object out, inspecting it. “It appears to be my grandmother’s ring,” she claimed with confusion. “I wonder how...”

“It’s Mama’s ring!” The young girl exclaimed as she forgot all about her promise and stepped closer to the bed to inspect her mother’s hands. “She must have dropped it last night.”

Helena stood and gazed down at the prone woman. Myka _was_ missing her ring. Having hated the idea of the American being promised to someone else, the inventor had made a point of looking anywhere but at the hand that held that promise; she hadn’t seen the striking similarity between the rings before. Knowing that her grandfather claimed to have had Norie’s rings made especially for her, Helena struggled to wrap her mind around how this one could be identical.

With no immediate answer, she pushed the question aside as another to ask either her grandmother or Myka and approached the bed with her discovered treasure. She didn’t think about any persons absent as she lifted her love’s hand and found the correct finger, her only thoughts were for a beautiful fantasy as she slid the ring home, ignoring the tingle of static between her hand and Myka’s.

“There, love,” she commented softly and then, almost as if her voice had jumpstarted her, the woman in the bed jerked, her eyes blinking, throwing her into consciousness after more than half a day lost to Morpheus’ grasp.

HG heard a surprised gasp escape from either her or Christina and held her breath as she continued to cradle that hand.

Gazing with confusion around the room, Myka took in the disparate forms of her family in the historical setting and connected neither. Her vision swam in and out, memories, dreams and reality mixing into an amalgamation of what she thought she was seeing.

The walls rippled, morphing between her bedroom at home, her childhood room, a hospital, Leena’s, the apartment she’d occasionally shared with Sam, to the one in which she lay. All the while she remained in bed, confused and half conscious.

Her muscles twitched uncomfortably. She desperately wanted to leap from her reclined position and shake out her limbs, but there was a heavy, lethargic weight that forced her down, keeping her almost immobile.

“Myka?” Helena’s voice sounded, her tone both shocked and relieved. Green eyes honed in on her voice and prompted her to try again. “It’s Helena, darling. Remember?” She was aware of the eight-year-old having crept up beside her and threw caution to the wind as she wrapped an arm around the girl. “Christina is here too. You’re going to be fine, love. We’re taking care of you.”

Myka was barely aware of what the Victorian was saying but she felt comforted by the woman’s voice and presence. She remembered a dream and, latching onto the first cohesive thought that came to mind, she said, “Horses.”

Sharing a quick, puzzled glance with Christina, HG looked back at the brunette and asked, “What horses, love?”

“For the wedding,” the future agent clarified. She focussed on dark eyes, feeling a gentle pull in that direction. “We should have horses at our wedding. You said you missed the horse and buggy days. Our kids will love them.” Her head turned as she continued to wax lyrical about the nuptials she imagined were impending, unaware of the confusion she was creating in the room.

Helena’s frown deepened until she saw the eight-year-old’s almost guilty expression and then felt her eyebrows tugging up towards her hairline. As Christina opened her mouth to comment, she silenced the girl with a raised hand. Myka might have been delirious but the Victorian agent felt like she’d just been allowed a peek into the American’s mysterious background. Perhaps she should have been ashamed to use the child’s honest expression to her advantage but she was fed up of being kept in the dark.

Stubbornly mistaking Myka’s response for lucidity, Helena launched into her questions. “Where did you come from, Myka? Who are you going to marry?” The answer she received was nothing like what she was hoping for though.

Myka’s eyes were drifting again as she flitted between the moving figures beside her and the expanse of ceiling above. She couldn’t seem to pin down reality amongst her memories. It was as if her timeline was disjointed and every thought was remembered as if it were the present. “HG Wells is a woman,” she announced needlessly to the room, and then, “She wants to rejoin the Warehouse. Artie isn't going to like it.”

A weight fell into her stomach with a sickening thud. Helena was unaware that her mouth was hanging open as she stared down at the stranger she loved, until a soft tisking sound drew her attention to the doorway. There stood her grandmother, looking not the least bit confused by Myka’s muttering, with Caturanga standing unobtrusively in her shadow.

“You!” She exclaimed as she dropped the wet cloth she was still holding and jumped to her feet. “Both of you!”

“It appears we have arrived too late to avoid the worst of the theatrics,” Eleanor said with a half amused, half resigned sigh directed at her granddaughter.

“Do not dare to use that patronising tone with me!” Helena exploded, feeling betrayed and hoodwinked. Neither emotion sitting well with her. “You’ve been at the centre of this, all this time?” Her indignation was so great that she was hardly aware of the continued muttering that came from the bed or Christina’s quiet sobs. She ran both hands through her hair, and then deciding that she could no longer stand to be in the same room as these people, she pushed passed the figures at the door and left without another word.

“That went as well as could be expected,” Mrs Wells lamented as she turned to the guest she’d brought with her. “Would you mind?” She gestured to the child and the occupant of the bed.

“Not at all,” Caturanga assured her. “I will examine Agent Bering. I’m sure young Christina will be an adept assistant,” he added, smiling at the girl who sucked in several short breaths as she wiped at her tear-stained face.

* * * * *

Hurricane Helena stormed through the house with little concern for anything in her path. No part of this situation computed with her yet but she clung to the slim sense of satisfaction in that she had begun to suspect the involvement of a curiosity. Knowledge was the key element to her comfort zone. To be left without that was akin to being thrown into a lake while barely knowing how to swim.

She found herself returning to her grandmother’s study after stalking the ground floor, desperate to escape but thirsty for answers, and reluctant to leave Myka. Eleanor was already there, waiting behind her desk, showing only a fraction of the contrition Helena thought she should feel.

“You know Caturanga,” HG blurted as she paced. Her grandmother’s calm facade invited her to rethink her approach and she took a deep breath as she pushed her fingers through her hair again. “How?”

“The same manner in which you do, dear,” Mrs Wells answered patiently. “Through our involvement with the Warehouse.” She watched her dearest continue to stalk the room and absorbed the mixed expression of incredulity and betrayal. “I am a regent of Warehouse 12,” she added.

HG made a sound halfway between a humourless laugh and a drowning sob. “You have been laughing at me this entire time,” the inventor accused, thinking back to the elaborate lies she had fictioned to explain her many trips out of town, plus the struggle she’d endured more recently as she tried to understand her feelings for Myka.

“Helena,” Eleanor blew out an exasperated puff of air. “Really! I have done no such thing.”

“You are a pathological liar; why should I believe anything you say? Your conduct has been entirely opprobrious!” She watched her grandmother’s expression and knew that her barb had hit its mark when patient eyes hardened. The feeling of victory she had didn’t last long.

“Sit,” the regent ordered, her expression serious. She waited until the young agent huffed and did as she was told. “Listen to me very carefully, Helena because I will only say this once. This is still my home and you are still my granddaughter. We will treat one another with respect, as we have always done, or we will not have this conversation at all. Am I understood?”

Slowly, Helena nodded, her gaze full of regret for her emotionally charged outburst. “I apologise,” she said with only mild reluctance. She was still, swallowing the hurt that sat in her throat.

Mrs Wells leant forward, her eyes softening. “My dear, I know that this is difficult for you. It has not been easy for me either. My responsibilities with the Warehouse have precluded me from sharing many things with you, the hardest of all being the pride I have felt watching you blossom into an extraordinary agent.” She saw hopeful eyes peek up at her and decided that she was on the right track. “Yes, I knew where you were going when you informed me that you would be sightseeing or visiting friends. Every curiosity you set out to hunt had me worrying for your safety, yet I could never let you know. Not all rules are made to be broken,” she added with the hint of a smile.

HG sat back in her chair. “If secrecy is so essential, then why are you divulging so much now? Is this somehow connected to Myka? How is she connected to the Warehouse and why does she think that I intend to rejoin its ranks? I have not left.” She had not had enough time to dissect the American’s fever induced ramblings yet but even if she had, she wasn’t sure that it would have prepared her for the truth.

“Myka and Christina were involved with a curiosity that brought them here from the future,” Eleanor explained calmly. “Agent Bering is active at Warehouse 13.”

* * * * *

Caturanga’s presence was precisely what the upset eight-year-old needed after the morning’s emotional lows. He listened attentively to her Mama’s seemingly random exclamations, enlisted Christina’s help to get Myka food and drink, and had her making notes to aid his observations. All the while, he maintained a cheery but respectful countenance, helping to put the young time-traveller at ease.

Helena and Eleanor had been gone almost an hour when Caturanga pulled out a rusty looking object that she assumed was an artefact and Myka’s body was pulled by exhaustion back into a deep slumber. The young girl was relieved to note that she had stopped sweating and appeared a little more peaceful in her slumber.

“Is she going to be alright?” she asked the strange man as he continued to play with the object in his hand and made notes on her mother’s condition. “What does that do?”

“Miss Bering, every situation that seems impossible is merely a puzzle waiting to be solved.” He smiled sympathetically to show that he wasn’t dismissing her concerns, but only trying to assure her of his confidence. “This little device allows the sufferer a short reprieve from the symptoms of their illness so that they can rest comfortably for a time. I regret that it will not last more than a few hours and must be used sparingly.”

“Do you know what’s wrong with her or what will cure her?” she asked desperately.

Approaching the girl and resting a hand on her shoulder, the caretaker shook his head. “Not as of yet but we will, rest assured.” He guided the youngster toward the sofa and away from the bed again. “What do you recall about the artefact that brought you to us?”

* * * * *

HG wasn’t sure if she was still capable of movement as she processed her grandmother’s words. Warehouse 13, the future, time-travellers? All of these words fought for dominance in her mind. Thinking back to when she had returned from Filey, when she had heard of a botched retrieval and saw Agent Kipling looking sour-faced as Rob explained that his partner was on probation, she knew that Myka had arrived at that time. Were the two connected? If so, why had she not been allowed to know? And just what had Kipling done to warrant his punishment if he was involved?

Forgetting for a moment all of the other people who were likely involved in keeping secrets from her, Helena thought of only one thing, “She knew me.” The inventor sank into herself as she began to put the myriad pieces of Myka’s puzzling behaviour together. “Before the night we met in the dining room. That look,” she recalled the expression of surprise, desire and conflict. “She knew me.” Pushing out of her seat, she let her legs carry her back and forth, pacing the room again as she worked through the pieces of this mystery aloud. “She knows me in the future, that... that is why she will constantly ask me absurd questions. Why she will respond and then retreat.”

Eleanor watched from her chair, waiting patiently, quietly for her granddaughter to find her own conclusions. Part of her wished that this difficult processing of events could already be over, but she knew that the young agent would not have had the same level of emotional investment before. Now was the best time.

“She knows me in the future,” Helena repeated, beginning to really feel the meaning of those words. Looking into her grandmother’s eyes for the truth, she watched her nod. “Caturanga told me some time ago that, when England’s power wanes, the Warehouse will move. It moves to America? And I will want to go with it,” she added, remembering Myka’s words about her wanting to rejoin the team of agents. Then, through the buzzing of thoughts in her brain, a tangent appeared. “Is Myka truly promised in marriage?”

Eleanor couldn’t prevent the sly smile that grew at the corner of her mouth. “Yes, dear,” she answered teasingly.

Incensed at the reaction, HG demanded, “To whom?”

“To you,” the matriarch responded with a chuckle. “Apparently, you proposed on Christmas day and she accepted. How very romantic of you, Helena. I was not entirely sure you had it in you.”

Flushing with embarrassment and pleased surprise, the inventor stopped in her tracks and gazed down at her toes. So distracted was she by the thought of Myka accepting her that she didn’t immediately consider the implications. Eventually a frown appeared on her features. “Are we living some kind of double life? What future would allow two women to live together and marry? Is America so progressive?” she wondered hopefully, and then, “How far from the future have they come?”

Eleanor braced herself for the revelation that was imminent. She took a slow breath and then answered, “Agent Bering reports joining Warehouse 13 in 2012. She and Christina left their home in late January, 2015.”

“One hundred and twenty-five years!?” HG exclaimed. “I am nearly one hundred and forty-nine years old?” she added incredulously.

“Technically I suppose, though I believe you appear to be in your mid-thirties,” the regent explained kindly. “Myka indicated that you were not more than a few years older than her for all intents and purposes.”

“Good God,” HG muttered. “I don’t expect I will be allowed to know why and how I will still be alive in the twenty-first century?”

“I am afraid not, my dear.”

“You will expect to extract my memories of these few weeks regardless,” Helena commented knowingly. “What difference will it make?”

“The difference I imagine will be in your willingness to allow us to tamper with your memories.” Eleanor responded succinctly. “Do you not feel as if you know enough yet?”

HG threw her grandmother a hard look. There were many things she still wanted to talk about; the biggest on the list being the older woman’s insistence that she keep her involvement with the Warehouse a secret, but for the moment, she was mostly concerned with her partner’s illness. “There are so many things I wish to protest against, but I feel that any energy I expend to that end will be in vain. Instead, I will focus on what is truly important; Myka.” She held her breath and expunged it in one quick puff. “Norie please, tell me what is wrong with her.”

Taking pity on her Little One, Mrs Wells rose from her chair and moved to stand in front of the weary agent. “Do not distress yourself, my love. Though I know no more than you, I do not believe Agent Bering to be in any immediate danger. She is strong. I am rather more concerned with the twins’ health. The Warehouse has a plan and I can’t confidently say that it has anyone’s best interests at heart but its own. It is ever evolving. Of course, the purpose of it is for everyone’s benefit. We individuals occasionally have to bear the brunt of its needs and fears.”

Helena’s eyes betrayed her inner turmoil. More pieces of the puzzle slotted into place as she considered this unknowable future and the possible advances. Perhaps she was wrong, but the immediate comfort she felt with Christina and the possessiveness that struck her on occasion when she deigned to think about Myka’s pregnancy; a knowledge based on belief grew in her mind. _They are my children,_ she thought in wonderment. Wrapping her arms around her beloved grandparent, HG let her tears of frustration, worry and impending loss fall onto a supplicating shoulder. “I just found her, Grandma,” she bemoaned, gripping tighter as she felt her body begin to shake.

Eleanor ran her fingers through inky hair and swallowed her own empathic tears. “I know, dear. She is still here. She is not yet gone, and you will find her again, some day.”

* * * * *

Helena returned to Myka’s room to find the future agent fast asleep again, looking more comfortable than when she left. She had asked Norie about the similarities between her ring and the one she had replaced on the brunette’s finger and discovered, to her dwindling surprise, that they were one and the same. It brought a bubbling feeling of warmth as she thought about saving the heirloom to give to her love over a hundred years from now.

Christina had been persuaded to take a break while her mother slept and after a few words of reassurance, Caturanga had departed to return to the Warehouse, leaving HG alone with the patient.

Thinking back to the moment Myka regained consciousness and began unintentionally revealing the things she had closely guarded for three weeks now, Helena considered the possibility that her actions with the ring had triggered the sudden awakening. Why had it been lying in the corner of the room in the first place? Was it as Christina had suggested, accidentally lost while the brunette was undressing? In hindsight, it seemed unlikely that Myka would have missed displacing the precious token of affection. She realised that she was much more open to the idea of the American’s dedication to her intended now that she knew _she_ was that person, but the fact remained, Myka was far too observant to have simply knocked it off and forgotten to pick it up. What did that leave?

_ She threw it away. _ Helena realised suddenly and frowned. _Why?_ Had she had second thoughts after the intimacies they’d shared in her brother’s library? Was it in a fit of regret that she rid herself of the symbolic promise? After their declarations of love, it seemed absurd for Myka to do such a thing. She would have to wait and see if the brunette could tell her. Since returning the ring, Myka’s condition appeared to have improved and Helena was reluctant to do anything that would reverse that. She would have to be patient.

Not wanting to disturb the woman while she was resting so peacefully, HG decided to simply sit back and absorb the idea of the life that lay before her. A memory of Myka’s caution last night, regarding her intake of alcohol, suddenly reared its head. _She thinks I should be pregnant,_ she realised again and then immediately thought of Christina. _She is Myka’s child,_ her thoughts conceded, having watched the two closely. _But perhaps not biologically?_

Her thoughts ran in circles as she tried to figure out how she, and apparently the child she was soon to have, had managed to find a way to travel through time. She would know nothing of Myka once the agent returned to her life in the future so why would she even think to make the effort? What catastrophic event would befall them to catalyse such a feat?

Before long, she felt the many hours of the previous day combine with the stress of the current one and knew that sleep would claim her soon enough. She kept her promise to the youngest time traveller and called her in so they could sit together for a while with Myka before ushering her to begin getting ready for bed.

“I'm not tired,” Christina pouted as she rubbed her eyes. Not only did she look physically exhausted, belaying her words, but emotionally wrung out too.

Helena was in no mood to be particularly patient in her own fatigued state but breathed deep to begin her attempt at persuasion. _May as well start practising, HG._ “Well, I am very sleepy. I cannot turn in until you do because you are going to keep me company tonight, so unless you are willing to debate the merits of sleep deprivation with me when I am already irritable, I suggest you relent and prepare yourself for bed.”

Christina continued to rub her eyes as she glanced between the inventor and the bed. She had been afraid to go to bed, thinking that she would have to sleep alone, but suddenly the idea wasn't so horrific. “What about Mama?”

Helena drew the girl close and looked over at the occupant of the bed. “Someone will be with her at all times and if there is any change they will alert us.” She felt the petite figure slump against her and knew she had won out. “Go on now,” she encouraged gently, giving the child a nudge. “I will be along shortly. I expect you will save me some space?” She added teasingly, eliciting a tiny spark and a rise at the corner of a mouth.

She waited until Polly came to relieve her, took one last look at the American and sent a silent prayer that she would still be there in the morning.

Christina wasted no time in clinging to her the moment she slid into bed beside the girl. Hesitating only a moment, Helena wrapped her body around her future and kissed the soft curls on the child’s head.

“Goodnight, love,” she whispered.

A sleepy grunt reached her ears before a pillow-muffled, “Night, Mummy.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

The new day brought with it what Helena would think of later that week as a false sense of hope.

_ Mummy  _ was a word that still rung, clear as a bell, from her memory of the previous evening and though in a way it terrified her, being already enamoured with the girl who’d uttered it, she woke with a smile, content to lie and watch Christina sleep a little longer.

Knowing that the doctor would be returning to see to his patient this morning, HG eventually had to move and found that doing so, while having had your limbs and torso captured by an eight-year-old, was a delicate task. As it was, Christina stirred the moment the inventor managed to free herself of the covers and woke with a whine of protest. She watched as the child rolled out after her and followed her round the room with only one eye open.

“Darling, if you are still tired, you may sleep a little longer,” she tried, even knowing that it was futile.

“I want to see Mama,” Christina insisted, her hand clutching to the inventor as if the adult might decide to make a run for it.

Taking pity on her, Helena crouched at the child’s level and pushed a lock of unruly hair behind her ear. “Allow me to dress and then we will visit your mother. I neglected to bring any clothes with me from your room but you will be alright dressing in there provided the doctor has not yet arrived.” She waited until dark eyes found her own. “Does that suit you?”

Christina nodded and waited as she wandered around the room and began inspecting everything. HG readied herself for the day as quickly as she could, leaving her sleep-shirt crumpled on the pillow and dragging a brush through her hair, still pulling it up as she ushered the child from the room, biting her lip so as not to scold another repeated utterance of ‘what does this do?’

They found Eleanor by Myka’s bed and discovered that, though she was once again asleep, the worst of the fever had broken. The future agent had woken on and off, asking after her daughter whenever she became aware of where she was. It still wasn't clear exactly what was making the woman ill but both Wells women agreed that the cause was likely linked to a curiosity.

“Why are you summoning the doctor again if we know that this illness is not natural?” HG questioned.

“Appearances, dear. I apologise for the necessity. Had I not been so hasty in my initial response... Well, it is done now. I know you tire of the need to pander to the masses but never underestimate the power of the mob,” Mrs Wells advised quietly from the doorway as she took her leave. “To most eyes, we have a seriously ill woman in our house; we would be remiss not to consult a medical professional.”

“I see your point,” Helena grumbled reluctantly.

“It would be best if Christina were elsewhere while others are present. Doctor Gravestock will expect us to adhere to quarantine.” Eleanor warned, looking with a sombre expression at the girl.

“I will speak with her.” Helena assured the older woman. “She grows weary of being ordered about.”

Eleanor’s gaze fell on her granddaughter for a long moment, prompting the inventor to meet it. “She will heed you I think.”

“The way I heed my mother?” HG asked with a knowing smirk.

It didn't surprise the regent that her granddaughter had figured out her part in the girl’s life but she was pleased to see that Helena was taking the revelation so well. “You will do better than Genevieve. Your mother loves you, Helena. Of that I have no doubt. Only, she does not appreciate the need to show it, or rather, a child’s need to see it. She also forgets that we do not all follow the same philosophies in life and that children must be allowed to go their own way sometimes.”

The inventor sat with Christina on her lap as they watched over Myka. When the doctor arrived, they went down to breakfast to stay out of his way, but Helena caught enough of his parting conversation with her grandfather to be concerned. When they were both replete, she instructed the eight-year-old to wait for her in the nursery and hastened to her grandfather’s study.

“There will be more of them?” She blurted by way of a greeting.

“Good morning to you too, flower,” Rupert said sardonically, looking up from his letter writing to find his youngest grandchild darkening the doorway with hands on hips. “Apparently, our convalescent guest is something of a curiosity herself as the doctor is still unsure of his diagnosis.”

“He is a charlatan; a quack,” HG protested, finally entering the room and closing the door behind her.

“Doctor Gravestock has treated our family for three decades with fair competence. Medicine it seems is forever evolving.” Ever patient, even more so than his wife, Rupert gestured to the chair facing his desk and waited until his granddaughter decided to sit down. “As for Miss Bering’s condition, he is perhaps showing his age at last. I have heard everything from cholera, ague and septicaemia to female hysteria.”

“Female hysteria!?” Helena cried, incensed. “I’ll give him bloody female hysteria. You are aware of the recommended treatment for such conditions, are you not? Not one of those... _Doctors,_ is to be allowed to see Myka without supervision!”

Far from being offended by her outburst, Mr Wells chuckled. “My dear, I do believe Miss Bering brings out the protector in you.”

Helena coloured but didn't withdraw her statement. Her tone softened however. “I do not wish for anyone to pour over her as if she were a lab rat. Is there nothing more we can do? Have you heard anything from the Warehouse?” Her words came out as if she asked the question often but they still stung as she remembered how much her grandparents had kept from her.

“It is a peculiar situation. You asked me last night about the rings I had made for your grandmother,” he began slowly. “Well, as I said, they were fashioned after the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. The two smaller stones reaching for one another around the centre; hearts ever meeting through obstruction.” He sketched on a piece of writing paper, the amethysts on either side visible through the clear central stone. “The couple, as you know, were said to have loved one another so deeply that their devotion transcended beyond this world into the next.” He smiled coyly. “The sentiment, I though, was apt for the way I felt about your grandmother.”

“You could not have found a less tragic tale for inspiration?” The inventor lamented, thinking of how her grandfather’s show of romanticism might be the catalyst for the illness Myka now suffered but knowing that she couldn’t blame him.

“Helena, I was a young man trying to impress a young woman. I wanted her to know that this life would be empty for me without her in it.” He almost shrugged but held his upright posture by habit. “The sentiment rings true, even after all this time.” Rupert continued as he pictured his wife of many years. Thinking of Helena’s comment, he tilted his head to one side, his hands coming to rest together on the desk. “Besides, how many tales of love do you know that do not embody an element of tragedy? To love is to open your heart to the possibility of pain, but a moment with her was worth the risk. I am blessed to have lived for so long with the one I love.”

HG nodded, a small smile breaching her concern for her love. “But you know of no reason why they might have become artefacts?”

“None,” he admitted regretfully. “But then I have never been fortunate enough to witness the birth of an artefact. I am led to believe that great events or extremes of emotion are the key, but there is still so much we do not know or understand about the world of endless wonder.”

* * * * *

Upon leaving her grandfather’s study, Helena knew that it wouldn’t be long before the doctor returned with his friends in tow. She had heard that Myka was awake and cognizant of her surroundings and wanted Christina to have the chance to see her mother while she was feeling better.

Retrieving the girl, they entered the guest room with identical expressions of hope and were not disappointed. Myka was propped up in bed, a half dozen pillows behind her by the looks of things. She had a serious, though weary shadow in her eyes as she conversed with Eleanor, but the moment Christina jumped on the bed and crawled up next to her, her face lit up.

“Mama!” Forgetting all propriety and cautions of catching fever herself, the girl dived into her mother’s arms and there looked as if she would stay. “I thought you were never going to wake up,” she confessed, half in sorrow, half in accusation.

“I’m sorry I scared you, Sweetheart.” Myka held the girl close, burying her face in dark curls to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes.

She thought of her conversation with the regent and the newly discovered pieces of this puzzle that they had begun to place. With that final one still missing, the fear that she might not survive to return home danced through her mind, no matter how much Eleanor tried to reassure her. She blinked rapidly and then spotted the figure who stood almost awkwardly at the foot of her bed. The utter adorableness of the woman she loved was too much and a small chuckle escaped her at the sight.

HG caught the amusement directed at her and scowled, which seemed to do nothing except spur the American on. Deciding that she rather enjoyed the sound of Myka’s mirth, she stuck out her tongue and was rewarded with a hoped-for belly-laugh, this time accompanied by Christina’s mellifluous giggle.

Seeing that her presence was no longer needed, Eleanor informed the room that she would return when the doctors did and left the three alone, smiling to herself as she appreciated the small family that surrounded her dearest grandchild.

Helena took the abandoned chair by the head of the bed and Myka continued to watch her. “I’m glad we’re not worried about me being contagious,” she began, hoping to draw the inventor out of her uncharacteristically quiet mood.

HG paused; she didn’t want to overly worry the eight-year-old who, despite her look of distraction, was likely hanging on their every word. “Caturanga confirmed our early suspicions.” She shot the brunette a look that said ‘I’m in the know now’, which was returned with one full of regret and apology. “It is just a question now of locating the source.”

“Hmm,” Myka swallowed hard, knowing that her own conclusions on the subject were going to be difficult for Helena to accept. Hearing the Warehouse caretaker’s name confirmed what Eleanor had already told her, that her granddaughter was aware of a great deal more than they’d originally intended. They could deal with that when young ears were not present though. There would be no avoiding it now but she decided to tread around the subject a little longer. “Eleanor told me about my unintentional confession. She may have also mentioned that you had some strong words to say to her.”

“She had a few firm words designed to put me in my place also. It was quite a revelation, to suddenly discover that the secret and elite organisation I work for is known to most of my closest and dearest. I dare say that I have not borne the news quite so rationally as I should have,” Helena dropped her gaze, feeling slightly ashamed of her immediate anger, knowing that Myka had heard all about it.

“Don’t be ashamed of who you are, Helena,” the brunette assured her, reaching over to take her hand. “Your fire is one of the things that I love about you and you have a right to feel angry with us.”

Helena nodded thoughtfully, smiled and cleared her throat. “No uh... regrets regarding the events of two nights passed then?”

“None,” Myka declared, her answer coming from the heart. Pausing, she considered the question a little longer. “I’m tired of keeping things from you. Regretting the things I can’t change won’t help us now. I confess that I did panic a bit when I got back.” She averted her gaze and turned the ring on her finger, holding it up after a quiet moment. “Thank you by the way, for this. I could feel it doing something to me and I threw it away without thinking.”

Rather than feeling pleased by the gratitude in green eyes, HG looked stricken by the news. “Darling, has it occurred to you that _this_ may be the very thing we are looking for?”

Slowly, the American nodded. “Your grandmother and I were discussing it moments before you entered. We believe it is both the cause and the cure.” She smiled sadly. “Something about love being both a gift and a curse.”

The inventor released the future agents hand and dropped her head, running her fingers roughly through her increasingly unkempt hair. She hated this. This feeling of forever being one step behind. She always had answers and solutions but lately she was forced to contend with knowledge of events that had yet to occur. It was rare that she was left to flounder like this. “So, removing it is not an option?”

Checking on Christina and finding her half-asleep, the brunette lowered her voice to a melodic murmur. “When I accepted you proposal, Helena, I was making a promise to join with you... for life.”

“Lord.” Helena’s gaze flitted from the bed, to the window, to the door and back again, searching for an anchor for this feeling of helplessness. “Myka, are you telling me that you will die if it is removed?” _I am to blame for this,_ she thought to herself, horrified at the very notion of her romantic gesture sentencing her wife-to-be to death.

“Helena...” Myka reached out as far as possible to offer what little comfort she could. “Honey, I’m telling you that you saved my life by returning it to me. I have no qualms about being stuck with you for life,” she teased in an attempt to cut through the tension. “It just means that I will have to be extra careful about never taking it off.”

Helena sat for a while, looking down at the slender fingers she had recaptured with her own. Gradually, she began to feel her love’s logic seeping through and her own inner turmoil settling. “Tell me more about this hypothesis; this gift and curse.”

“Your grandfather told you the story of their origin? The inspiration for their design?” Myka asked softly. There was an element of fascination in being an integral part of the life of an artefact and she smiled at Helena’s slow nod. “I understand how he felt; I would follow you anywhere. You are a gift to me.”

Dark eyes locked onto green and, feeling the static in the air, HG leant forward and brought her lips to Myka’s, finding them chapped from hours of restless, fever-induced sleep, but warm and oh so willing.

The young Victorian writer lost herself in the embrace, dreaming in those blissful moments that reality would leave them be, that she would open her eyes and find her love restored to full health. She was too knowledgeable about the effects of artefacts to truly believe that the worst was over with. The sadness behind Myka’s eyes told her more about the future agent’s thoughts than words could.

Reluctantly, Helena drew away and, not able to meet the brunette’s gaze again whispered, “Am I also your curse?”

“We invited pain into our lives when we opened our hearts to one another.” She unconsciously echoed Rupert’s words. “But Helena,” Myka tucked the fingers of her left hand beneath a trembling jaw and guided mahogany eyes to her own. “We have each other to lean on when that pain overwhelms us. While I hate the idea of hurting you even a little bit, I know you could no more leave me than I could leave you.”

“I will find a way to fight this,” HG choked, her voice muffled by the tightening of her throat.

Myka reached to the back of the inventor’s neck and pulled her closer, their foreheads coming to rest together as another tear slipped down her cheek. “I know you will. Dear heart, I believe in you.”

* * * * *

While clinging to Myka, wishing that she had by some miracle a moment of brilliance that could end this nightmare, HG found her strength and resolve slowly returning to her. Her love was right, they might share the pain but they also shared their fortitude and together they would fight.

She sat up, brushed a fresh wave of tears from Myka’s face and reached for a handkerchief to dry her own. In gentle whispers, they began to talk, to share, to smile and eventually, laugh.

Christina woke from her nap to hear her parents chuckling over some amusing anecdote and quickly revived, scrambling over the American to sit between the two women so she could share all of her favourite parts of the future with her fellow Brit, baffling the older Victorian with tales of Uncle Pete: The Bottomless Monster.

Polly came to interrupt the moment the doctors returned and the two mothers shared a look before Helena and Christina wished Myka a temporary farewell and disappeared from the room.

Having been assured by her grandfather that nothing untoward would happen to Myka, Helena consented to leave the doctors be while her grandparents remained with the American. Even so, her curiosity was too great for her to leave the matter entirely and, more than once, she stalked the corridor for a short time, smiling to herself as she caught Myka’s beautifully ferocious voice telling the professionals just what they could do with their experimental ‘cures’. When they were done, she stealthily followed them downstairs.

_ “Mr Wells, I am of course gratified to see Mrs Bering looking healthier but she is still not one hundred percent and she must see that we are merely trying to speed her recovery.” _

Helena stood in the parlour, just out of sight as she listened to what she hoped was the last of her grandfather’s farewells with Doctor Gravestock and his colleagues.

_ “As my guest has regained control over her faculties gentlemen, I can hardly force her to consent to care that she may not even need.” _

_ “Mr Wells, we really must protest. Not understanding the nature of her malady, we cannot guarantee the safety of your household.” _

_ “Gentlemen, I assure you that we will continue to take every precaution. I will contact you immediately should she take a turn for the worse, but until that time, I believe we will manage well without your kind services.” _

HG breathed a sigh of relief as the voices finally faded away and left her hiding place to join her grandfather in the vestibule. Her raised eyebrow was all he needed to know her mind.

“They will not be returning unless called for, which I assure you, I will not be doing.” He took her arm as they wandered towards his study. “She has quite the sharp tongue on her when raised to the occasion,” he commented with a side-on glance at her expression.

Helena flushed with pride, knowing from their few conversations that Myka had a sharp mind to go with that tongue and knew how to make her point without needing to appear rude. “How is she faring?”

“I think she exhausted herself with the effort she put into maintaining a calm facade. She may already be asleep again,” he informed her as she parted with him on the first floor.

“I _am_ overdue some personal maintenance,” HG confessed, picking at a lank lock of hair. “I think I will take this opportunity to freshen up.” She kissed her grandfather on the cheek and thanked him for his help in dealing with the doctors and then wandered back to her room, informing a maid on the way that she would like to take a bath.

She made quick work of getting clean and it was only as she had finished drying that she realised that Christina was probably due for a bath too. She made a mental note to see that the girl had one before bed.

It was mid afternoon when Myka woke to full consciousness a second time. Christina picked out one of her favourite books from the schoolroom and curled up with the invalid again while HG consented to read to the two of them.

“Dickens huh?” Myka commented as she gazed down at her daughter with a tired grin. Her eyes were slightly sunken from the lack of rest she had had with her sleep and her skin was pale and clammy but with the eight year old there, she had energy enough to joke around a little. “You wouldn’t be trying to tease someone now, would you?”

Christina grinned and Helena lowered Oliver to her lap, a mock scowl forming. “Oh-ho! I see how it will be. Am I to be ganged upon often in my own home?” She took the teasing in good form, allowing the girl much leeway until they were called down for dinner.

Helena hardly knew what she was eating these days. She only knew that her thoughts stayed in a particular room upstairs or else focussed long enough to listen to Christina when the girl felt talkative. More often than not, the two of them ate quickly so that they could leave the table and return to Myka.

Long after Christina was tucked up in bed, HG sat with the American, holding her hand and stroking cool skin. Where Myka’s body would overheat, her extremities had begun to grow cold.

Knowing that they couldn't avoid approaching the topic any longer, she began to speak calmly about their situation. “I hear that you will have a long journey ahead of you, once we discover how to cure this malady.” At Myka’s confused look, she elaborated, “The future?”

Green eyes held all the guilt they had been suppressing and then welled with tears. “I’m so sorry, Helena. I know you wanted answers but I...”

“Shh, darling.” Gentle hands reached out to comfort.

Myka held on tightly even as she continued to spill apologies. “I wanted to tell you.”

“I know. It’s alright.” Helena ran her hand along an arm, hoping that the prone woman would find it soothing. “I want to make the most of the time I have left with you here, and that certainly does not include upsetting you. Therefore, to put your mind at ease, I assumed and have been told in no uncertain terms that I should not expect to keep my memories of your time here. Once you are well, you and Christina will go back to the future.”

“I will have to remember to tell Pete you said that.” The brunette snorted a muffled laugh through her tears and at Helena’s confused expression she said, “Sorry. ‘Back to the future’ is the title of a popular movie about time travel.”

“Movie?” Helena asked, still perplexed.

Myka wracked her brain. “Like a nickelodeon or a zoetrope?”

“A daedalum?” The Victorian wondered, beginning to understand.

“Yes,” the American agreed. “But the images are digitally burned into a disk and then fed electronically to a screen so you can view it.”

“Fascinating,” the inventor’s eyes lit up as she imagined it. “And do we have one of these screens in our home?”

“A television,” Myka named it. As HG wouldn’t remember this conversation and she was already aware of the most crucial aspects, she didn’t see any harm in indulging some of her curiosities. “Yes, we have one.” Looking up into those inquisitive eyes, she felt a pull in her chest. “I’ve missed you, Helena. I hate to think what you must be going through at home. Giving up your memories means you probably won’t know what’s happening to me or Christina.”

“Love, all will be fine. I understand now,” Helena tried once again to calm the future agent.

“No,” Myka choked, knowing the hardships her fiancée had faced. “You really don’t.” She thought back to all the times she’d caught Helena crying for her lost daughter, the bone-weary pain she’d carried and the eventual anger that had come pouring through the madness in those final hours before the incident at Yellowstone. Tears leaked into her pillow and all she became aware of for a long time was the feel of the bed dipping, her love’s kisses in her hair and arms holding her close, trying desperately to comfort her.

“Darling, I am aware that knowledge can be a terrible burden sometimes,” HG began softly, having slid onto the bed so she could hold Myka properly. She noted that the brunette’s body was still overly warm and rearranged the covers slightly rather than relinquish her hold. “I gather that you are keeping some terrible tragic event in my future secret?” She felt a small nod against her shoulder and continued. “However, despite that tragedy, we still arrive at a place where we live together, are promised to one another and have a growing family?” Another nod, a little firmer this time. “Then all will be fine,” she repeated, moving back marginally so she could rest her head beside Myka’s. “I hope I will not often be the cause of your tears,” she lamented.

Feeling somewhat more collected in her thoughts after another good cry and particularly after Helena’s wise words, Myka summoned what remained of her energy to kiss the inventor gently. “You were in a tough place for a long time, Helena, but you have brought much more joy to my life than sadness. You are my light in the dark.”

After a while, tentative conversation meandered back to earlier, to their unfinished discussion regarding Myka’s mystery illness. They talked in circles and Myka eventually filled the inventor in on Future Christina’s involvement. Helena speculated on the need to travel to this time and place as the American thought back to the night she had thrown her ring off in a panicked daze.

“Having already spent several hours without it on...” She thought aloud, repeating things she had theorised with Eleanor. “Somehow, I think too much damage has already been done.”

“The illness cannot reverse itself?” HG finished, coming to the same grim conclusion. “Do you believe the cure may be in the future, that you will not recover until you return?”

“Caturanga and your grandmother are fairly certain that the artefact will be usable once I’m better. They believe that this illness is the sign we’ve been waiting for, but I can’t for the life of me figure out why. What have I achieved by lying here?” Myka sighed with frustration, her fatigue beginning to catch up with her again.

Words soon became yawns and Helena kept her vigil as the woman in her arms drifted in and out of sleep, through the night, her body alternately growing hot and cold, and then occasionally mumbling something that made little sense to the inventor.

* * * * *

And so the evening passed, the night offering little reprieve from worries or illness. Days gradually became a week with the inventor’s efforts at home and the Warehouse offering nothing but increasing frustration. She wouldn’t tell anyone else, but in her desperation, she had begun to search amongst the shelves of artefacts for something that would cure Myka, even if that meant sacrificing her own health.

Each night, HG found herself leading a protesting child to bed, sitting with her, listening with a weary half-smile to her dwindling complaints as she slowly drifted off to sleep. The fondness she had felt for the eight-year-old from the beginning grew by the hour and Christina’s increasing sullenness added to her motivation.

She had saved so many lives during her time as an agent that she despaired at the lack of success she had with helping her own family. She would not wait much longer before attempting something drastic. _One more day,_ she decided, knowing that Myka didn’t have much longer. _It is not too much to ask that the Warehouse give something back._

* * * * *

Roused by the opening of the door, gaunt, tired green eyes lit up at the sight of the figure that entered. “Helena,” Myka’s weak voice drifted up from the bed where she had been dozing lightly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

HG carefully hid the horror she felt at the deathly-pale appearance of the woman she loved. The intensity of her feelings only strengthened her resolve. Tomorrow, she was going to end this. “There is nowhere I would rather be, darling.”

“Christina?”

“Asleep. Finally, after a great deal more protest than was necessary.”

As had become routine over the past few days, Helena crawled under the covers and wrapped her arms around the weakening body beside her.

They had been keeping a close eye on her vitals, noting that all of the expectant mother’s energy appeared to be directed toward her precious cargo. Eleanor continued to insist that the brunette would fare better in the long run than the twins and tried not to show the increasing doubt she harboured, but HG knew her grandmother too well; if Norie was growing concerned, then the situation had become dire.

She talked while Myka listened and drifted in and out of sleep. She described the changes she’d made to her short drafts regarding time travel and a scientist who builds a machine to transport him to the future. That topic always brought a smile to dry lips.

Helena never wanted to leave her partner’s side but couldn’t ignore the child in her own bed. Each night she had stayed with Myka until she couldn’t possibly stay awake any longer and left to join their daughter. Knowing her plans for the following day though, she had difficulty closing her eyes and so remained in the guest room, savouring what could be her last night.

Sometime around 1am, HG felt a sudden change in Myka’s body and jolted out of her restless half-sleep. It began with a spike in her temperature and what had been a small rise and fall, prompting HG to occasionally rearrange the quilt, became something of an inferno in comparison. As the inventor struggled to sit up, her companion trembled and whimpered, sweat returning to cover her face and neck.

In the few seconds that passed, Helena had the covers whipped off, no thought for privacy as she panicked, searching for anything to help.

“Myka?” She lifted the American’s left hand and held it to her chest. There was no response to her verbal plea but she felt long fingers squeeze her own and keep hold of them. “Darling, hold on, please.”

The hand in hers trembled along with the body it was attached to. Helena considered calling for aid; perhaps the compresses would help again, but the moment she moved to put the thought into action, Myka’s grip tightened and wouldn’t release her. HG felt her resolve break and tears breach the damn she had attempted to keep in place.

_ Please, _ she thought desperately, her one free hand stroking over the back of Myka’s, inwardly kicking herself for not having acted sooner. _Give me her burden. Any pain I will bear for her... Please._

Through her tear-blurred gaze, HG witnessed a pulsating light grow from their joined hands. Unable to break away, she knelt, open-mouthed to watch as it engulfed the woman in the bed and then travelled along her own arm, surrounding, penetrating, filling her. She felt her own temperature spike and her muscles begin to shake uncontrollably.

Dark eyes widened in surprise as Helena realised that the sensation she had mistakenly assumed to be pain was not foreign to her. The insidious, addictive pull; the low throbbing; the tensing and tingling in and around her skin; it left her powerless as she half-collapsed over Myka and fisted the sheets with her free hand. Words failed her as she was overcome by arousal and desire. Breathing heavily, she sank into a pillow and groaned her pleasure as her companion arched beside her, their bodies trembling in tandem to a shared release.

She collapsed breathlessly mere minutes after initially waking, her hand still trapped with Myka’s as she slipped into a dream-like state.

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I just made more work for myself by posting in two places? Ah well, so long as people enjoy it!

At least an hour passed before Helena regained consciousness and slid dazedly from the bed. She glanced back to see Myka sleeping peacefully, her colour renewed and the fever a mere memory. The inventor smiled gently to herself, her mind foggy but aware enough to feel relief. Something had woken her from her sated slumber but the reason wasn’t immediately obvious until she stretched and felt her clothes slide against her middle, closer than they should.

Her heart knew more than her brain was willing to accept as her eyes travelled nervously down to her stomach. Not having changed from her shirt and trousers, she felt around her waist-band, felt the tightness and swallowed thickly. Muscles in spasm pulled her attention to the uncomfortable but unmistakable growth. Within a few short minutes, between gasps of pain where she clutched at her stomach and crouched next to the bed, bunching the covers for an entirely different reason, she felt her body stretch, making way for a new arrival. She barely had time to loosen the ties on her trousers before they became unbearably tight.

Too many pieces of this enigma abruptly crashed together in the inventor’s mind. The future; Myka’s insistence that she could be pregnant; Christina; the mystery illness; artefacts; the night’s events and Myka’s miraculous recovery...

Helena rose clumsily to her feet and wandered mindlessly towards the door, her youth flashing before her eyes as a sudden clarity flooded her thoughts; she was going to be a mother. Her life would change drastically. Her own mother was going to ship her off to some forgotten corner of the globe to live out her confinement, excusing her absence by telling others that she was attending finishing school or some other such nonsense. She knew that there was no way she would be _allowed_ to keep her daughter but she also knew that she would die before letting anyone take her baby away.

An odd conflict of thought whirred through her brain, simultaneously damning and thanking fate. On the one hand, she felt completely unprepared and unwilling to accept the responsibility of raising a child, yet on the other, knowing the destination that this beginning would culminate in, and the wonder that was Christina, everything she thought she wanted for her life was turned on its head.

Her feet reflected her meandering thoughts and she soon found herself in a seldom used room which led into a secret hidey-hole of sorts. Having first discovered it as a young child, during the summer she had stayed with her paternal grandparents for a month and had made every attempt to avoid going home when her parents and brother returned; it was hardly surprising that her subconscious brought her there now. If there was ever a time in her life when she needed to hide for a few hours, it was the morning she discovered that she had been magically impregnated. With her future bride’s child no-less.

* * * * *

Consciousness swimming up through a thick fog, any hint of dream hidden within it, Myka began to wake. The slow creak of door hinges brought her fully out of sleep and she smiled contentedly as she stretched and rolled over to find dark eyes observing her closely. Blinking a few times, she noticed the absence of her headache and a renewed sensation of life in her limbs so rose up onto her elbows.

“Mama?” Christina looked curiously from the side of the bed. She had woken up alone and felt entirely disorientated for a minute or two before remembering that her Mummy was supposed to be there with her. She didn’t remember ever having heard the adult come                                                                           to bed and for a brief moment, she had felt an uncomfortable rumble of some mostly foreign feeling fill her stomach. How dare they leave her alone!

Seeing Myka now though, any unfavourable thoughts were pushed firmly into a box deep inside her subconscious.

“I’m ok,” the adult answered the silent question, the surprise evident in her voice. Grinning now, she gestured for the girl to join her and drew the petite figure in closely. Muffled words prompted her to let go slightly. “What was that, Sweetheart?”

“I said ‘Mama, you need a bath’.” Her expression captivated her distaste perfectly and she shook her head with theatrical disapproval.

An accusation of this magnitude would, in most cases, have turned the agent into a puddle of embarrassment, but she felt so relieved to be well again that her inner-Pete decided to show up. Leaping from the bed, she wrapped both arms around the retreating youngster and pulled her in for a full body hug. Her grip was tight but flexible so that when Christina’s giggle and struggles became forceful, the American’s arms parted easily.

Taking an experimental sniff of her under-arm, Myka made a show of fainting against the bed. Regaining her mature, non-Pete side, she continued to smile and said, “Remind me when you’re a teenager to tell you that you stink.”

“I won’t stink!” The eight-year-old exclaimed, running into her mother and scrabbling with her again, their frantic horseplay a sign of the manic relief they were both experiencing.

Being drawn by the commotion, Polly poked her head around the door and struggled against the urge to laugh. The agent’s gaze fell on her and she blushed at being caught but shook off her surprise and embarrassment to offer up a relieved smile. “You look very well this morning, Mrs Bering. I’m so glad! Would you like me to share the good news with Mrs Wells?”

“I think first I would appreciate a bath,” Myka replied as she shared an amused glance with her daughter. She saw understanding in the young maid’s eyes as she nodded and turned to see to the task. The girl was almost out of sight before Myka called her back. “Polly, have you seen Miss Wells this morning?”

“No ma’am. I haven’t seen her since helping to dry Miss Bering’s hair after her bath last night,” the red head informed the guest regretfully.

Myka frowned internally as she thanked Polly and let her go. _Where could she be?_ “Sweetheart,” she began, turning to her daughter. “Have you seen Helena?”

Christina shook her head, thinking back to her earlier conclusion that her fellow Victorian had not slept in her room last night. “No, Mama. She didn’t come to bed.”

Forgetting for a moment her concern regarding her partner’s whereabouts, Myka focussed on the eight year old’s disappointment and began to appreciate how hard the last few days must have been for her. She really didn’t need to worry about Helena too.

Kissing the girl’s forehead, the adult tried to bury her own worries and moved to comfort her daughter instead. “Ah. You know what she’s like when she gets a bee in her bonnet about something. She probably spent all night trying to create a cure for me and fell asleep in the middle of the chaos.”

Christina nodded but didn’t appear very convinced. “Does this mean we’ll be able to go home now?”

Not having had enough time to consider the repercussions of her recovery yet, Myka hesitated.

During the lucid moments of her illness, she had almost lost her composure when she began to believe that she might not make it home after all. Asking Helena to take care of her little girl if the worst should happen was a real low point for her as she inwardly said goodbye to her family and mourned the loss of her life. Having almost lost faith in the idea that she might get better, she had not begun to consider the aftermath of such an occurrence. What did she expect would happen now?

“I’m not entirely sure, Sweetheart,” Myka confessed. “I hope we can return soon.”

Despite her earlier complaints, Christina leant into her mother and for a few moments became quiet and introspective. “When we return, I’m only ever going to see Mummy again, aren’t I?”

It wasn’t really a question and Myka wasn’t sure she had it within her to give an answer. She hugged the girl closer and kissed the top of her head. There was nothing she could do or say that would make any separation easier but she knew she had to try. “Christina. When the people we love are no longer with us physically, we can remember the good times we had together to keep them alive in our hearts, and if remembering sometimes hurts too much, we can ask the people who _are_ still with us to help.”

“Like you and Mummy?” A small voice asked.

“Yes,” the American agreed slowly. “But there’s also Uncle Pete and Lila; Claudia, Leena and Steve. Even Artie, though he’ll pretend to be grumpy about it.” She shoulder bumped the youngster and the girl smiled spontaneously. “I hope we’ll get to see more of my sister, Kevin and Daniel too.” She stroked her fingers through wavy locks and paused for a minute to think. “I know they don’t replace the people here. We will find a way to remember them.”

They stayed cuddled together until Myka’s bath was ready and Christina announced that she wanted to read by herself in the library. The agent hesitated again but as after the week Adelaide had stayed with them, she appreciated how a bit of alone time for the girl was not necessarily a bad thing. She nodded her consent and reminded her daughter to come find her if she needed anything.

The hot water felt good against her skin as she lowered herself into the roll top tub and sank beneath the surface.

As she lay there, letting the heat relax her muscles, her mind finally turned to last night. She wasn’t sure when exactly she’d fallen asleep, only that Helena had been there, lying close by as her words and thoughts began to drift.

Disjointed, fever-induced images had plagued her dreams and most had been too bizarre to remember with clarity but at some point during the night, they had taken a turn. Head resting back against the bath, she frowned at the effort it took to sift through the murky images in her head. Dreams had always been nearly as readily accessible to her as any other memory when she focussed enough, but what she could make out from last night’s dream came through like a badly tuned television...

_ Strolling along the aisles of the Warehouse, perusing the infinite shelves and their wares, she became aware of a voice calling her name. Green eyes darted around, searching for a source. A solid object weighed down one arm and she adjusted her glasses to look down up on a clipboard. _

_ “I have responsibilities,” she muttered to herself. “I have to do this inventory. Shaking off the magnetic pull of that voice caressing her name, she began reading the items on her list. _

_ Godfrid’s spoon, Torquemada’s chain, drift wood from the Titanic, Lizzie Borden’s compact, a Minoan Trident... She frowned, pausing to look up at the items on the shelf. _

_ “How...? You shouldn’t be here.” She scratched her head, frowning. “I should really tell Artie,” she mumbled but didn’t immediately move. _

_ If she told Artie, he would insist on putting them back where they belonged. There was a sense of danger here to be sure. Though she didn’t know why, she needed them to stay. She would most certainly end up broken and Artie would be disappointed in her for hiding the truth, for flirting with the dark, but the compulsion she felt to keep this magic to herself was too strong to resist. _

_ “Hey, Mykes.” Pete’s voice came from over the brunette’s right shoulder, making her jump. “Whatcha got there?” _

_ She glanced at the clipboard and sucked in a sharp breath. An image of her and Helena on the couch in the library at the B&B stared back at her. They were rocking against one another, her own overwhelmed gaze consuming the sight of unhindered passion above. Lust and mortification hit her in quick succession as she snapped the clipboard against her chest to hide it from prying eyes. _

_ Turning to face her best friend, she found him embracing an imaginary lover, winking at her, teasing. She raised a fist to punch him and hit nothing but thin air. _

_ “Myka...” That silky voice again. _

_ Distracted now, she wandered along to the end of the aisle, hands still clasping the memory of that first time with her fiancée. She emerged from the towering shelves just in time to catch sight of a figure disappearing round a corner to her left. Intrigued, she followed, unaware of the sudden emptiness of her hands. _

_ Ducking passed the wing of a stuffed albatross, she looked up to find herself face to face with her bed. ‘The Time Machine’ was open and upside down on the bedside table, next to her alarm clock and a picture of her and Helena sitting with Christina on the Black Hills steam train. By the opposite side of the bed, an elegant band of gold lay on a simple chain, a hypnotic, tuneful vibration drifting through the air. _

_ She twitched, ready to move, to reach, to touch. Fingers on her hips, followed by hands, broke her focus and she glanced down to watch a pair of arms encircle her waist, wrapping around her protruding stomach. _

_ “Looking for me, darling?” Helena’s voice husked in her ear. _

_ She felt the inventor’s body stand flush with her own and closed her eyes, leaning her head against her companion’s as she brought her hands up to rest over the ones on her stomach. _

_ A desperate whisper passed over the shell of her ear, “Lend me your burden. Let me bear your pain.” _

_ Lips traversed her skin, beginning behind her jaw. Heat built within her like an exponential chain reaction. The world swam around her, a vague impression of a statue with glowing eyes filling her vision before she lay with Helena above her, around her, inside her, making her tremble. _

_ One arm circling the crown of her head, she grasped the hand that held hers, gripping for dear life when it threatened to leave. The other explored and touched at will, eventually arriving at a wanting entrance and falling within its depths. _

_ She swallowed HG’s short gasps as their lips met wantonly, mouths devouring, teeth occasionally rough before tongues soothed the offence. Legs wrapped around a waist, shackling Helena’s body to her own, riding their combined passion until it peaked and they came undone. _

_ Eyes firmly shut, lungs pulling in much needed air for several seconds, she barely had time to register the loss of weight above before her eyes opened on an entirely different scene. _

_ She was still lying in bed but the pleasant familiarity of her belongings were gone, replaced by clinical whites and greys. She was exhausted and sore, drowsy with some unknown exertion of effort until a gurgling sound drew her attention to the right and she smiled contentedly at the sight that greeted her. _

_ Helena still held her hand even as the inventor sat by the hospital bed; HG’s free arm wrapped around Christina, helping as the girl cradled a newborn sibling. _

_ She felt a blissful tear slip unbidden down her cheek as her fiancée’s eyes met her own. _

_ Helena’s gaze reflected every heart-swelling beat of this moment; her words emerged choked with emotion. “You did so well, darling. He’s beautiful.” _

_ She nodded, not trusting her voice. She wanted to ask after the other one but didn’t have chance as dark eyes guided her to the opposite side of the room. _

_ Head twisting slowly, she glanced to the doorway and looked upon yet another room. This one was dated, Victorian, and by her bed sat another Helena; younger and beaming with her arms wrapped around a bundle that also gurgled. _

_ “Helena?” She heard her voice mumble in confusion. _

_ The young, as yet un-traumatised inventor smiled, her eyes full of nothing but love. “She’s perfect, Myka. Until we can be together again, darling, I will love her for the both of us.” _

_ Understanding hit her like missing a step and righting yourself just before you fall. She leant forward automatically where the inventor met her half way. Christina blinked up at her from the nest of blankets, her slightly aqua gaze not yet darkened to the deep brown her curly-haired mother was so used to. _

_ “I know you will,” she finally whispered to her mate. Touching a wisp of curls on the newborn’s head, she lowered her voice further, the words she uttered for one person only. “My baby girl.” _

_ She knew now. She had to be where Helena could take their daughter. Christina would bring her Victorian mother to the future, thus ensuring her creation. _

_ A sensation of peace fell over her as she gazed into her baby’s eyes, saying with that look everything she couldn’t put into words. Saying goodbye for now. _

_ Eyes closed on a babe’s face and... opened to that of a world wearied child’s. _

Myka lay rigid in her bath, hands gripping the sides as she stared across the room, realisation and understanding rising from the memory of her dream. A trembling hand covered her mouth as a sob escaped her throat, tears springing to her eyes unbidden.

How had the dream slipped from her mind the second she woke? Christina had been staring right at her. How had she missed the connection until now?

Her daughter. _Her_ baby.

It changed nothing yet it changed everything. From the moment she’d met the girl, it hadn’t mattered to her where she came from, Myka loved the eight-year-old like she was her own. In hindsight perhaps some unknown maternal instinct had kicked in. Had she recognised her own child even before she’d carried her? Regardless, loving Christina had been as easy as breathing and her feelings in that respect had not changed.

What did feel different was the satisfaction that swelled up at the thought that Helena was always destined to be hers. She’d never considered herself to be the possessive type but when HG Wells had fallen into her world, she’s struggled not to feel jealous and desperate to be the centre of the Brit’s attention. Not that she’d allowed herself to be obvious about it but when watching Helena interact with others, there was always that uncomfortable churning right before she suppressed it as unprofessional and adolescent.

After their reunion, her passiveness in their relationship had gradually dwindled. The few months since Christina’s revival had given them a sharp learning curve and Myka had felt more confident than ever in the surety of their future together, but that emotion was nothing compared to how she felt now. HG Wells was _her_ mate.

So many answers to so many questions were revealed. However, hot on the heels of these revelations came new queries and concerns.

Feeling the water grow tepid, she turned her attention to her task.

Baths weren’t exactly the relaxing affair Myka experienced at home but she was glad to feel clean again after being bed ridden. For someone who was used to showering daily, her skin felt grimy and her head itchy, so that when she stepped out and began to dry off, the relief was palpable.

Even as she stood naked, beginning to shiver, she had to pause to study the bump that had been slowly growing. Was it her imagination that it felt smaller? She didn’t think so. Fingers and palms stroked around the protrusion, missing the extra weight but knowing now that her arrival in 1890 had been steadily leading up to this.

While ill, she had not only mourned the possible loss of her own life. Each moment that passed brought fresh fears of something terrible happening to her children. When Doctor Gravestock and his colleagues suggested several treatments to cure her fever, she adamantly refused to let them near her. After overhearing a suggestion that they should perhaps sedate her, she had been more than prepared to use every last ounce of strength to beak bones if necessary. Anything to protect the twins from the doctors’ archaic understanding of medicine.

Now, only one remained. Christina’s twin. A boy, if her dream was to be believed.

Finally dressing, Myka returned to the guest room to dry her hair by the fire and compose her wayward emotions before breakfast.

Helena’s absence was telling of how eventful the night had been for more than herself. She worried for the inventor but was prepared to be patient for a little while, hoping that the Brit simply needed a couple of hours to come to terms with their situation.

She felt less than ready for company but noticing that time was ticking ever onward and realising that someone must have deliberately left her to her own devices to freshen up (likely Eleanor), Myka knew that she had to make an appearance soon.

Checking the library on the way she was surprised to find Christina still there, her nose buried deeply in a book. Myka felt her heart clench at the beautiful sight even as she mourned the missing years from her daughter’s early childhood. She would never see her little girl’s first steps, the first time she smiled; never hear her first word, her first giggle; never catch her first tear or chase away her first bad dream. Helena would have those moments to cherish and it took everything Myka had not to envy her partner because she knew what the price was. Knew now the path that was written for them, from this time to her own ‘present’. Knew too that her love’s journey was full of pitfalls; of despair, of madness, of guilt and regret.

Helena had asked to endure her pain, her burden; and endure them she would.

Deciding that she had spent more than enough time mulling over their entwined destinies in sombre solitude, Myka pushed away from the door and curled up close to the eight year old, apologising for the interruption but not waiting for permission to wrap her arms around the petite figure and pull her into her lap.

“Have you not been down to breakfast yet?” She asked into dark hair, her tone only lightly scolding.

“I’m not hungry,” Christina answered quietly. Her head dropped softly onto Myka’s chest and she inhaled slowly. “I’m sorry I said you smelled bad.”

Myka chuckled. “It’s nice to always want to tell the truth, but sometime you are allowed to keep thoughts to yourself. My mom used to say, ‘If you can’t say anything nice, you’d better not say anything at all’,” she advised the girl while stroking hair behind her ear. “I didn’t mind too much though. I’d rather know if I smell so I can do something about it.”

“You smell nice now,” the girl added consolingly, her tone brightening the longer her Mama held her. There was silence for a while as they both continued to take comfort in the familial embrace, until Christina decided that she needed to share the thoughts she had warred with since waking and finding Myka well again. “I miss Mummy, Mama, and I want to go home but I don’t want to leave everyone here. Are we not allowed to take anyone with us?”

The agent sighed with regret. How should she explain the potential consequences when nothing was at all certain? “What do you remember about your Uncle Charles, Christina?”

A curious head bobbed up from her shoulder and canted to one side as she searched her memory. “He dressed up as Santa Clause every Christmas and he always pretended not to hear me laughing when his beard got caught in something. He used to read to me sometimes when Mummy had to go away and made me smile when I was sad. He didn’t let Grandma Wells tell me off if I hadn’t really done anything naughty...”

The list went on and Myka eventually had to hold up her hand to get the girl to stop. “If we take your Uncle with us now, before you’re born, none of those things will ever happen and all of your memories of him might just disappear.” She paused to let this sink in and though it pained her to kill these particular hopes, she knew it was necessary. “All the people here will have an impact on the future whether that’s in a small way, like making a little girl giggle, or in a big way, like being an advocate for women’s rights and the face of one of the world’s most respected writers. It would be selfish and irresponsible of us to change those things.”

“I don’t like it,” Christina grumbled as she returned her head to its place on the adult’s chest. Understanding the reasons didn’t endear her to them.

“I know. Neither do I much but unless we want to unleash chaos on the world, we must make do with what we have.” Myka offered what comfort she could, with words and tighter hugs.

Eventually both of their tummies began to rumble, signalling the lengthy time since they last ate and at the agent’s urging, they both wandered down to the dining room, appearing sheepish as they arrived to find the staff clearing away the leftovers.

“I’m so sorry,” Myka apologised profusely as one of the girls was ordered to fetch plates for the tardy pair.

 “Not to worry, dear. You’ve been through quite the ordeal and are entitled to a bit of time to gather yourself,” Mrs Wells said as she waved off the contrition. “I must say though, I’ve been most eager to hear your account of things. You know now _why_ you recovered I assume?” she asked expectantly.

“I think so,” Myka responded. She wanted to ask after Helena again but thought better of it after having finally worked a genuine smile from her daughter; she didn’t want to set her worrying again.

Eleanor seemed to read her thoughts though as she gazed towards the ceiling and almost rolled her eyes. “With Helena ensconced in her secret den, I cannot expect to tweeze any answers from her. Your account will make a reasonable beginning.”

“A secret den?” Myka couldn’t help repeating as plates were placed in front of them and food quickly began to arrive. She glanced at Christina whose mouth was already full of toast. They shared an amused look.

“Oh yes,” Eleanor nodded, her eyes laughing. “The hours spent looking for that child when she did not wish to be found... Charles was always woefully bad at hide and seek, poor dear. Genevieve too had difficulties. I think two years passed before any of us managed to discover her most used hideaways.”

“Where’s her secret den?” Christina asked now that her mouth was empty. She forgot all about her concerns for the future as she pictured her Mummy crawling through some sort of tunnel or trap door.

* * * * *

HG sat hunched in her make-shift armchair, her gaze focussed unseeingly through a tiny window at the rooftops in the distance. Seeking out her favourite refuge had allowed her mind to calm from the catatonic panic it had fallen into after leaving the guest room.

Never having experienced this level of trepidation before, she didn’t know quite what to do with herself. It had stopped growing and her hand lay lightly on top of it; a reminder that this was real and the whole night wasn’t a result of a bad batch of opium.

Her days of risqué associations and gatherings would have to be put to rest in light of this new development but instead of feeling resentment and disappointment, what followed this revelation was a comforting relief.

At first, the thrill of developing a wild reputation had excited her but as time went by, it became something that was just expected of her, almost like an obligation in its own way. This expectation began to make her feel just as much an object of ownership as that of her position within her family. 

One of the reasons she loved the Warehouse so much was the sense of responsibility she got with the adventure. Her calculated recklessness helped her to save lives, capture villains and generally make the world a better place. How many of her acquaintances could say that? She was unique in more ways than one, and if anything in her life pushed her to achieve, it was her belief that she wasn’t just another face in the crowd.

Didn’t this pregnancy prove that she was part of something bigger? She had a destiny that spanned more than a hundred years. She had been chosen to carry this child; this miracle, and with no need for some chauvinistic ideal of physical purity. She was no Virgin Mary after all. As a matter of some pride and not a little smugness, she realised that she had Myka had not needed a man at all.

_ Christina, _ she stroked her swollen middle, feeling the tenderness of her skin where it had stretched too fast. _Did I choose the name?_ she wondered, chuckling to herself as she considered the irony and skewed heresy.

The sun was well established by the time she uncurled from her cramped position and left her hiding place. She wandered through the quiet house until she came upon the dining room and caught the conversation in flow.

A smile tugged at her features as she listened particularly to Myka and their daughter, most of her fears for the immediate future buried beneath bravado and a well-developed contempt for the self-appointed authorities of the socialite circle. She thought back to last night and the moment she had connected with the future agent; her knees trembled just thinking about the way her body had responded to the brunette’s touch. Who knew how long they had before the artefact that brought the time travellers here would be ready to take them back? Helena knew that she needed to spend as much time with the pair before the inevitable occurred.

“It’s a secret,” she answered the young girl, waltzing into the room and behaving as if nothing completely crazy had happened to her in the night. “If I told all and sundry, it would not make a particularly effective hiding place now would it?”

“Helena!” Christina jumped up from her seat and threw her arms around the inventor. Her bright demeanour lasted but a few seconds before she turned angry eyes upward and placed both hands on her hips. “You left me alone all night.”

HG’s eyebrows rose and she shared a nervous glance with Myka. “Well I... It was not my intention darling, believe me.” Leaning down slightly, she palmed the girl’s cheeks and kissed her forehead. “I am terribly sorry, love. Can you forgive me?”

A playful scepticism appeared in young eyes and Helena noticed for the first time the tiniest hint of green specs near their pupils. “Will you show me your secret den?”

“I must bribe you for your benevolence?” She asked with fake shock. “You drive a hard bargain. However, I believe I can accommodate you, if you can promise to take the secret to the grave?”

Myka cringed as her daughter nodded enthusiastically. By the time Helena’s eyes met hers again though, she had managed to pull back a convincing smile. “After breakfast,” she insisted and gestured for the inventor to join them.

HG nodded and ushered the child back to the table before making herself comfortable in the empty space beside the American. Under the polished wooden surface, she found Myka’s hand and slipped it into her own. With a small squeeze, she encouraged green eyes to meet her own and tried to offer what small comfort she could. They would have to find time to talk before the day was over, but until then, they could simply enjoy their time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who expected Christina to be a twin!?


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Following chapter thirteen; Helena and Christina in the 21st century. HG continues to reread her grandmother's journal while Christina has something to tell her mother.

The teenaged girl continued to doze in her mother’s lap while Helena read on through her grandmother’s journal entries. Those that interested her most were the ones spanning Myka and their daughter’s presence in 1890.

Someone, likely Mrs Fredrick, had cherry-picked the dates she would most likely be interested in. It couldn’t be yet another coincidence that Norie’s writings stopped just as she was about to learn more about the American’s illness and subsequent recovery, could it? Then again, perhaps the regent had learnt something that she didn’t want to put into words. Perhaps she thought that the answer was not safe on paper.

Whatever the reason, HG found herself taking a long, deep breath to control her need to scream at someone. The texture of soft curls between her fingers reminded her of what was truly important; that Myka had recovered and would be returning home soon, she and Christina both at least physically well.

_ November 9th, 1890 _ _ ,  _ Helena read again.

_ Agent Myka Bering is full of controlled fire, a formative woman to be sure. _ _ “That she is,” the inventor whispered, her mind turning briefly to the times she had been actively pursued by the woman._ _While initially I was sceptical, I no longer find it difficult to believe what she claims. Events within the Warehouse have been leading up to her appearance. I can feel it, even within these old bones._

_ It is not such a stretch to suppose that she could know us professionally if she truly is from a future Warehouse, however, the impression I get from her suggests that she has knowledge of Rupert and I on a personal level. _

_ We have agreed that she will maintain the ruse that she is married and that ‘Mr Bering’ is unfortunately detained by business in France. _ _ Helena sighed, knowing that the deception was necessary but feeling an old wound itch at the thought._ _We will discuss the details presently. For the time being, I believe she is safe from too much scrutiny._

_ Having chance to converse with Miss Bering, I cannot place the certainty I feel that my Helena is somehow an integral part of current events. Christina’s likeness to my granddaughter, the ring Myka wears... A convergence is taking place and we are in the centre of it. _

_ One question plagues my mind; if I am correct, how will Helena find herself over a hundred years in the future? I do not doubt her sense of adventure or ingenuity but rather, I fear the source of her motivation. _

“She felt something happening,” HG murmured to the quiet room. Evidence against the Warehouse was stacking up. She cursed herself for not taking the time to rest properly at the beginning of the week; sleep deprivation was surely the cause of her lack of focus.

Try as she might, she still couldn’t force her brain to recall the events of the past as her grandmother described them and continued to revisit what she remembered as a period of confusion and acceptance as she became aware of her pregnancy. In truth, she had not been pregnant at all then. The mornings spent at the docks with Charles to satisfy her cravings for seafood were lies; fabrications given to her probably by the woman she had trusted most at that time.

She had given birth to Christina full term though. The midwife had even suggested that she had carried longer than necessary. How was that possible unless Myka’s presence in that time was pivotal to the moment she conceived?

She touched the chain around her neck and felt for the wedding band. It was always warm now, just above her body temperature so that she knew the effect was not simply conduction of heat, and it vibrated at a velocity that created a faint hum.

In silence, she began to read again, trying to keep her meandering thoughts to a minimum and tease out the pieces of the puzzle that would help her to solve it.

_ November 12th, 1890 _

_ As time passes, I am ever more convinced that Myka and Helena are involved. Agent Bering was reluctant to share anything about the future at first but she cannot hide the affection in her eyes whenever my Little One is mentioned. Behind the sparkle of fondness however, is a shadow. I see her grapple with her conscience every time she talks about Helena and I know that my concerns regarding my granddaughter’s future are warranted. _

_ She prefaces questions with warnings and I see a desire to ‘save’ Helena beneath the knowledge that she should not attempt to alter the past. I feel that, if she could guarantee no disastrous consequences for anyone else, she would sacrifice her happiness to prevent any tragedy that will befall my granddaughter. _

_ It shames me to admit that a selfish part of me would allow her to try just to keep my Little One safe. _

_ November 14th, 1890 _

_ Good Lord, I did not anticipate the effort required of me to deter Helena from chasing so readily after agent Bering. I have witnessed her fixation with potential paramours before but Myka appears to be the north to her compass. I do not believe she listened to half of what I attempted to say to her last night. Fortunately, she will more than likely spend the morning in bed, which will give me time to speak to Miss Bering alone. _

_ I am thankful that Myka possesses a certain patient thoughtfulness that provides the antithesis to Helena’s spontaneity. For all that they are alike, I do believe there is enough balance to make their relationship lasting. _

_ Seeing Helena’s fascination with Myka, it pains me to think that I will not be alive to see their love grow. Yet, I must be grateful that I have witnessed this much. Helena does not, at present, appreciate the weight of her emotions and I find that I am reminded of my own oblivious beginnings with Rupert. The constant push and pull was exhausting. Only once I became aware of my feelings was I able to release my aversion to convention and accept that I would share my life with him. _

_ I can only hope that my discussion with Helena last night was able to tug at some of her doubts. I believe it essential that she realise her destiny sooner rather than later. _

_ November 15th, 1890 _

_ I have not yet discovered the reason for these convergences but I feel strongly that I must help them along. Agent Bering is here to begin a series of events, though she knows not how or why. If it is in the interest of the Warehouse then it follows that it is in the interest of the world and the future. Helena is to endure horrors before her journey to the twenty first century and like Myka, I wish to prevent them, but I am told that they will be happy and I cannot in good conscience destroy that. _

_ They will be married and will start a family of their own. My Little One will live in a future that is more prepared to accept her genius. I have to be satisfied with that. _

Helena closed her eyes briefly to allow the tears that threatened to spill time to recede. No matter how annoyed she was with her grandparents’ secrecy, she missed them dearly, particularly her grandmother. She had given almost no thought to losing her own parents when she volunteered for the bronze and only spared Charles a passing wish for his happiness, but Norie had been her mother by all but name and her best friend at times. She had accepted the loss long ago but there was still a grandmother shaped hole in her heart.

_ November 16th, 1890 _

_ With Helena escorting Myka and Christina about town, I had occasion to visit the Warehouse today. _

_ Caturanga and I remain firm in our belief that we must allow events to unfold in their own time. Patience is something we each have in spades. However, in the interest of curiosity we tested my rings (the likeness of which Agent Bering wears) for the possible signs of artefact behaviour. _

_ The mere act of removing them was enough to bring about a frantic beating beneath my breast so that we were forced to be swift with our tests. I should not have thought it before but both returned with a positive result. Neither is particularly strong, yet I cannot help but wonder whether Myka’s would yield the same outcome. It is entirely likely that, given the remarkable circumstances in which she discovered them, they will gather strength over time. _

The inventor thought back to Myka’s remarkable story of how she found the rings inside a puzzle box and knew her grandmother had to be right. There was no doubt that the Warehouse was playing them like a theatre full of puppets, but to what end?

_ November 21st, 1890 _

_ Helena is gone to East Budleigh to search for a curiosity; leaving my guests feeling melancholy in her absence. Myka hides it well when others are around but the effort is beginning to take its toll on her ability to appear cheerful. Christina has become irritable and sullen; she grows weary of the wait and her antics plague her mother’s good nature. I have asked Rupert to take the girl out for the afternoon in the hope that it will give Agent Bering time to herself to gather her strength once more. _

_ November 24th, 1890 _

_ It is over a week since Helena insisted on taking her new assignment and I am convinced that she is deliberately stalling. _

_ Her long absence is testament to how tangled her emotions must be at present. I have not known her to sacrifice prestige for the pursuit of love, yet she tempts whispers of incompetence in capturing a mere pendant while taking her time to figure out what her heart yearns for. _

_ I would not know how to account for it, had I not seen her together with Myka. _

_ I do hope she rediscovers her courage soon though. Spirits are low today, with no sign of rising without my Little One’s attendance. _

Swallowing a sharp pang of guilt, Helena pushed on.

_ November 26th, 1890 _

_ Helena returns, sending word of her completed journey via post. _

_ She requests Myka’s presence for a social gathering at her residence with Charles and while I am gratified to finally see a genuine smile on the Misses Bering’s faces, I am wary of my granddaughter’s intentions. I sincerely hope that she still heeds the warning I gave her the night she and Myka met. _

_ It is not an appropriate event for a child but I have agreed with Agent Bering that Christina will return to this house with me once she has spent some time with Helena. I see the strain on that angelic face when we speak of her absent mother and cannot imagine the confusion with which she battles. I am reminded that hardships can sometimes test and strengthen ones character, yet I fervently hope that there is an end to this mystery in sight. _

Guilt rose to plague the inventor as she pictured the struggle her little girl must be going through, even though she knew that there was nothing she could do to change the circumstances. She didn’t remember meeting Myka or Christina at that time and even if she did, it wouldn’t change the fact that she hadn’t known them then and wouldn’t have appreciated how difficult her absence would be for the visitors.

On top of that, as she continued to read, she began to feel a burning envy rise in the pit of her stomach. With no memory of the event, HG read Norie’s words as if the ‘Helena’ she spoke of was a stranger. To think of this forgotten embodiment potentially pursuing her fiancée brought out the green-eyed monster in her. It didn’t help that what she did remember of her amorous behaviour back then was not exactly complimentary. She was ashamed to admit that she had used people. Her grandmother had seen genuine emotion in her attentions towards Myka but it didn’t necessarily follow that she had been considerate in her actions.

What would her fiancée think of her conduct? Would she be repulsed and find something worse in her character than the evils she already knew, or would her younger self’s antics have the opposite effect? Would Myka find her youthful exuberance exciting, attractive, even arousing?

She tried to ignore the bile that rose in her throat. _You would find Myka attractive in her youth; could you blame her for feeling the same?_

_ November 27th, 1890 _

_ The house is in a state of subdued chaos. Myka is ill and not a one of us can think why. _

_ Doctor Gravestock is similarly puzzled though is pleased enough that we are doing everything we can to stem the fever. He will return in a day or two if we do not see any improvement in her condition. _

_ I cannot help but suspect the involvement of an artefact and I must write a missive to the Warehouse before the day is over. _

_ Helena’s presence has calmed Christina but I do not know how long that will last; in case Myka’s condition **is** contagious, I have asked that the child remain outside the room. It takes no great stretch of the imagination to predict how her behaviour will change the longer she is forced to keep a distance from her mother. _

_ November 28th, 1890 _

_ As a result of her delirium, Agent Bering has revealed to Helena her connection to the Warehouse. To say that my granddaughter is upset would be a gross understatement. _

_ I invited Caturanga home with me to examine Myka and to bring Helena into the fold myself, but fate it seems is sent to deny me. I managed to calm my darling Agent Wells long enough to engage her in a composed conversation and though she remains understandably hurt by my secrecy, she allows that Myka’s condition is the priority and valiantly buries her aggravation. _

_ I could not be more proud of her. _

_ Revealing her future betrothal to Myka brought about a longing in her that I have never before seen in her expression. She would move mountains to see Agent Bering well again but I believe she would be as equally miserable as full of joy; Myka’s recovery will no doubt prompt her return home. _

_ Regardless, it is now in our domain to discover the cure for this malady. _

_ December 1st, 1890 _

_ I made an erroneous decision in summoning the doctor so swiftly. His presence, along with one or two colleagues, has hindered more than helped. Rupert was thankfully able to convince them that we are capable of handling the situation but this has been the only piece of good news all week. _

_ Myka’s condition deteriorates day by day and with it, my conviction wanes. _

_ Though our suspicions regarding my rings are almost certainly correct, we are no closer to understanding how to reverse the effects. _

_ Between my husband, Helena, Myka, Caturanga and myself, we are in agreement that it was Agent Bering’s removing of her engagement ring that catalysed her illness. She regrets her rashness, poor dear and fears for her children. As she becomes weaker, we all grow increasingly concerned though try to hide it. _

_ It appears that, once they are placed, the rings should not be removed. I have informed none that in my ignorance I too have taken them off and felt the beginnings of some queer illness. I have asked Caturanga to keep our little experiment to himself for now. If indeed I was also correct to think that they have strengthened over time, then I do not believe that I am in any immediate danger. It is Helena’s good timing that has saved Myka for the present. Instinct may have had a hand in motivating her to return Agent Bering’s ring but there is no doubt in my mind that she would not have survived beyond those first few days had it remained lost to her. _

_ There is a frantic madness in my Little One’s eyes that grows with the hour. The last three days, she has spent in the Warehouse. It is my belief that she intends to cure Myka with an artefact, even if it should mean putting her own life in danger. As a regent and a grandmother, I should put a stop to her irresponsible actions but it was agreed that events should play out as intended and I have to trust that the Warehouse has its reasons for creating this chaos. _

_ If something does not change soon though, I fear my faith will break entirely. _

“The rings again,” Helena murmured to herself.

Myka had been ill for the best part of a week, which the inventor calculated as approximately a day and a half in the present time. Though she knew the actual time period for this illness was long passed, with her partner still absent, she couldn’t help but picture the comparative time and considered the event to be happening ‘now’. If the increasing temperature of the token around her neck were any measure of their connection, she couldn’t be far wrong.

Of course, her calculations were based on her teen’s knowledge of how long she and Myka were absent for, the truth of which had yet to be proved. Christina might be tight-lipped about many things but what she did share were not lies so Helena was content to believe her.

_ December 3rd, 1890 _

_ At last, we can breathe with relief. _

_ I am as yet unaware of the particulars but Myka is out of bed and looking as well as she was when she arrived in our home nearly four weeks ago. I have asked the staff to give her time to herself while she adjusts. I am content that she will join us when she is ready. _

_ Christina has asked to be left alone in the library. My attempts to draw her out were met with polite refusal and I have reluctantly agreed to allow her time to reflect on the week’s events. _

_ Having kept a close watch on my granddaughter, I know Helena did not resort to taking anything from the Warehouse. How close that decision was is anyone’s guess. I am simply grateful that she did not. She is currently hiding in one of her nests. Knowing this house as well as she does, I have already ascertained that she is in no difficulty herself and have deigned to wait her out. _

_ So the three of them are healthy if not entirely happy. I must content myself with the former and hope that the latter will improve in time. _

With this last entry, Helena was convinced that the answers she sought had been too sensitive to put into writing. If her hypothesis about Christina’s origins were correct, then it made a certain kind of sense.

Myka had either helped her to conceive a child already as developed as the twins she was carrying or else, their little girl was originally one of a pair. At the end of a four week stay in 1890, her fiancée would be seventeen weeks into her pregnancy. By the middle of May 1891, she had been fit to bursting with Christina, which coincided nicely with her theory.

How would Myka feel with either of those scenarios? Not only was she Christina’s co-creator, but she would have to leave the past knowing the fate that awaited their daughter. Norie had observed that Myka appeared willing to sacrifice her future and her happiness to save Helena but she would be unable to do that without also sacrificing their children. She hoped that her fiancée would know that any hardship she endured was worth it for a chance to have a future together. She hoped that Myka could stay strong in her belief that they were meant to be together.

With no control over the past, all that remained was to wait until her family returned. But one thing was certain in her mind; Christina was Myka’s by more than their mutual affection.

* * * * *

Helena paced the length of the book-bedecked room, passing her teenage daughter over and over with the same furious expression. She had spent the evening reflecting on her grandmother’s words before suggesting that she and Christina get a better night’s sleep. They’d eaten breakfast while chatting nostalgically about London and were now, once more discussing serious topics.

“No! Absolutely out of the question!” Her voice rang clearly through the house, her tone cutting through any resistance.

Christina sighed. She had made the decision to tell her mother of her conversation with Mrs Fredrick and, as expected, the older woman had exploded. They were sitting in the library now, pouring over Eleanor’s journals again before they had to give them back.

HG had announced her readiness to leave for the bed and breakfast when the young time-traveller asked if they could talk about how she intended to get home. She watched the inventor pace and chunter to herself for over a minute and shook her head at her mother’s stubbornness.

“I will be having words with Irene Fredrick if she thinks she can allow this to go ahead.” Helena’s hands gestured wildly and on every turn she stalked back passed the sofa, her gait stiff as she fought against her instinct to leap into action. “I suppose you both think it’s fortuitous that Myka isn’t here to stand against this lunacy too.”

“Mama wouldn’t like it any better than you,” CJ agreed. “But she would know, like I bet you do deep down, that this is the only way.”

“I beg to differ. The Warehouse is endless. If Mrs Fredrick or one of those holier-than-thou regents were to actually help for a change, we could find a way.” Her fingers danced erratically over her lips as she searched through alternatives. “I could work on my time machine if they would let me. Anything else... I will not allow them to bronze you!”

Wincing at the dark pain and terror painting her mother’s tone beneath the anger, Christina rubbed her temples. She had known that this wasn’t a conversation they could have rationally but she was prepared to stand her ground. “How long will any of those options take? You’ve been down this road before, Mum. Are you really prepared to test dozens of artefacts on me when we have a reasonably safe solution right in front of us?”

“The time machine,” HG tried again, swallowing the voice of logic that niggled at the back of her mind. “Now that I know it is truly possible...”

“I’m sorry,” Christina interrupted. “I don’t doubt your ability to pull it off, but I’m not prepared to wait however long it takes to get it done. I’ve already sacrificed two months of my life by coming here.” She gazed up at her mother’s guilt ridden features and softened her tone. “It’s not your fault, Mum. You know it had to be done. I don’t know what the Warehouse wants with me but it made it possible for you to give me life, for my family to come together and I couldn’t refuse to protect that. I want to live,” she finished, her voice holding onto more emotion than she’d intended to show.

HG had stopped pacing near the window. She was half-turned to listen to her daughter’s words and felt the inevitability and sheer lack of control that she wielded. She made her way to the couch in silence and settled next to the girl, throwing her arm over her shoulder and drawing her into a hug. Knowing her daughter’s origins, seeing the familiarity with Myka and understanding that it wasn’t merely mannerisms that gave the teen a likeness; the inventor; the self-proclaimed genius, marvelled at the intricacies of the situation she and Myka were unwittingly involved in.

The first time she had seen the agent in London, some part of her felt as if the American belonged there, as if they had been there together once before. Dismissing the idea as ridiculous, she had endeavoured to wipe the thought from her mind and focus on the task. Still, the entire time spent in that house with the agents, the sense of déjà vu had refused to leave her.

It was difficult not to feel responsible as, so far as she could remember, her actions following Christina’s death had caused untold heartache for every person whose life she had touched. To discover that the Warehouse was a major contributor to the direction of her existence made her want to rest any responsibility she carried firmly on its rafters.

Yet, without that interference, her life as she knew it and the family she loved simply wouldn’t have been possible. Christina would never have been born and Helena knew that she would have had no reason to end up in the bronze. Her life would have been over long before Myka’s began.

It was testament to how content she was with her presence in the future, with her family, that she found life without Myka and Christina and the promise of a future with them completely unimaginable.

“I know that I had to return to this time,” Christina continued to plead her case. “My life is one big roundabout. I’d rather not return to it any older than I am. We think we might have found a way to make the time in the bronze more endurable,” she added tentatively.

HG let her arm drop down to a waist and gazed at the girl expectantly. “How?”

“Rêves lucide,” the teen answered cautiously. It was, as her parents had warned her before sending her on this mission, only a hypothetical solution, but there was sufficient reason to hope the answer lay in dreams. 

“You think you will have an easier time of it if you’re asleep?” Helena asked, beginning to mull over the idea. It did seem to have potential merit.

Eager to jump on the topic if her mother was in the mood to listen, Christina continued to explain. “A year could appear to pass in the space of a day and if I were able to control my dreams, so much the better.”

“Lucid dreaming,” HG repeated aloud. “You know of an artefact that will force this control?”

“Marquis d'Hervey de Saint-Denys wrote a book in 1867 called, Les Reves et Les Moyens de Les Diriger: Observations Pratique. It’s in the Warehouse; Mrs Fredrick is going to find it out for me.” She winced slightly at the annoyed expression on the older woman’s face.

Helena sighed and ran her hands through her hair as she stood and resumed a slower pace across the room. “So let me get this straight… You knew when you arrived here that you would ask to be put into the bronze but you waited until now to tell me?”

“You had enough on your mind, Mum.” The teen tried to explain but was cut off.

“I've been sitting around feeling useless all week! You didn't think I might benefit from a distraction at least?” HG argued, her irritation getting the better of her again. “I could have been working on the time machine or searching the database for alternatives.”

“I know,” Christina nodded guiltily. “I'm sorry.”

“Why?” The inventor wanted to know. “Give me a reason.”

“The bronze works. We know that. Anything else would be an experiment and we wouldn't be able to guarantee success. Plus, the less time you spent in the Warehouse…” she trailed off as she became ashamed of the thoughts she was voicing.

Fixing her daughter with a resigned stare, HG finished, “The less temptation for me to abuse my position?”

Christina swallowed audibly. “Yeah. Not all of the regents are convinced of your redemption. They’d use any excuse to put _you_ in bronze again and I couldn't let that happen.”

Helena shook her head and laughed, the sound muffled beneath the hands that covered the lower half of her face. “Are our lives forever destined to be this way? One of us trying to save the other from the past?”

The teen smiled ruefully. “I guess. I understand, Mum. You want to spare me the pain, the torture you felt while trapped in the bronze, but thanks to you and Mama, I don’t have the same weight on my soul. Your companions were guilt, grief, anger and an unquenchable desire for revenge. You had no reason to believe that there was anything good waiting for you when... _if_ you were set free.” She watched her mother’s eyes fill with remorse and waited a beat before continuing. “I’m only going to be in bronze for a tenth of the time you were and I will go in knowing that my mission succeeded. That my family is safe while I’m immobile and that I will be emerging into a life that I’ve only recently left, where I have friends, loved ones and plans for my own future.”

“I suppose when you put it that way, I can hardly compare your experience to my own. Ten years of solitary confinement is still a harsh sentence though, darling, not matter your sunny disposition going in.”

“Which is why we intend to put me to sleep and give me control of my dreams for the duration.”

“Point taken. I can see that someone has put thought into this. I do wish that you had told me sooner though.” She took her space on the couch again, angled towards the teen. “How am I supposed to continue to live, knowing that you are trapped in the Warehouse?”

“Think of it this way,” the young woman smiled cockily. “The more enjoyable you make my life growing up, the more positive memories I will have to keep me company until it’s time for you to let me out.”

HG smiled slowly, meeting the pleasantly surprised eyes that gazed back at her. Despite her misgivings, she was beginning to feel less anxious. It didn’t necessarily mean that she would allow her baby to be put in prison without a fight but the idea was slowly losing the horror she’d initially felt. “Darling, as I keep telling you, I have looked into it and it is illegal for me to try to genetically modify a horse to make a unicorn.”

“Not even one that barfs rainbows?” Christina chuckled at the memory of her juvenile demands and then laughed aloud as complete confusion covered her mother’s face. “Sorry, pop-culture reference.”

Helena shook her head and jumped to her feet, deciding not to waste any more time. “Come along,” she ordered, making her way onto the landing and towards the stairs. “Chop-chop!”

“Where are we going?” The teen called as she scrambled after her mother.

“The Warehouse,” HG answered, grabbing her coat and throwing one of Myka’s at Christina. “I want to see what you and Mrs Fredrick have managed to come up with. If I am going to feel even remotely comfortable with this plan of yours, I will need to be brought up to speed. I am done with allowing everybody to railroad me with platitudes and half-truths.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was certain that I updated this story yesterday. Ah well, better late than never!

Myka knew that she needed time to speak with the other adults in charge of the Warehouse and she knew she couldn’t do that with Christina around, but she was hard put to let the girl out of her sight.

Who knew what other surprises could befall them before they had a chance to journey home? Helena seemed to think there was a great destiny awaiting their daughter but what if she was wrong? What if Christina was a sacrificial lamb being led to the slaughter for a second time? What if the Warehouse itself was the source of all the evil they, as agents, were forever trying to vanquish? What if their faith was misplaced and they were simply allowing themselves to be driven to madness over and over again?

“Why would it need to expend the energy involved to bring us together through time if not to sustain the position it holds in the world? The Warehouse is a monument to duty over personal gain, is it not?” Helena reasoned as they sat side by side on the small sofa in the school room.

They had followed their daughter there after breakfast and conversed in hushed tones while letting Polly distract the eight-year-old. Myka fidgeted whenever she wanted to reach over and touch the young inventor and had to control the urge. Helena had resorted to borrowing one of Myka’s new outfits, one that had ruffles around the middle and went some way towards disguising the abrupt change in her body shape. The American worried that the attempt wouldn’t be enough to hide her love’s condition and feared the repercussions. She didn’t want to compound the issue by highlighting their desire for one another, even if HG did brush off her concerns as inconsequential.

It was odd talking to her partner while the Brit was still so un-jaded by events of the past. Future Helena had learned to be more balanced in her opinions over the years but she was more likely to be pessimistic about the Warehouse than her younger self, and for good reason. Her fiancée had made incredible progress towards patience and consideration for the consequences that her younger self had yet to think about. In comparison, the HG she sat beside had confessed to making plans to misuse an artefact to save Myka while she was ill.

Perhaps it did make sense that the Warehouse needed Christina. Helena was the one to bear the brunt of the horrors after all, while their daughter barely remembered the transition between life, death and life again. Her time in Lingo had been gentle on her psyche, almost as if she were deliberately cushioned from the kind of distress her mother had suffered.

“Duty for its agents maybe. But, isn’t all of this for the personal gain of the Warehouse?” Myka countered and then sighed as she looked over to where their little girl was playing. “I hope you’re right, Helena. If we have to be at the mercy of its whims, I’d rather it be for a good reason.” She felt soft skin brush briefly against her hand and glanced up to meet a warm gaze.

“It is not as if we have gained nothing,” HG added softly. “I realise that there is perhaps much I should be concerned about for the future but I cannot regret too fiercely the force that has brought us together.”

Myka caught herself before she could pull the inventor into a heated kiss. As the day progressed, she found the temptation to touch Helena almost irresistible. In a little over three weeks, she had seen the flirtatious inventor undergo a drastic transformation; from the carefree, over-confident young rogue she’d met one November evening, to this insightful, passion filled woman who looked at her as if she were the first and last person to walk on the Earth. Eleanor had just two words to say on the subject – _true love_. Myka bit her lip again to keep her body from making its own decisions.

Charles and Caturanga joined them for lunch, where Rupert also made an appearance for a rare occasion that he was not overseeing one of his factories. The future agent was not entirely aware of the reason for young man’s presence until Helena asked Christina to show him around while she and Myka spent a couple of hours discussing tedious things with the elder couple and their other guest.

As she shook off her surprise at the unexpected thoughtfulness of the young inventor, the moment they were all congregated in Eleanor’s study, Myka wasted no time in slipping her hand into Helena’s. She sat as close as she could to her partner while not actually sitting on her lap and earned herself an amused eyebrow raise.

“I know of half a dozen secluded spots around this house if you wanted some alone time later,” HG whispered into the shell of an ear, chuckling at the blush her words elicited.

“Behave,” Myka hissed, even as she considered the time they would need to do what she wanted to do with the Victorian.

“Well, my dears,” Eleanor began once they were all seated. There was a cautiously happy smile in her eyes and tugging at the corner of her mouth. “It appears that the Warehouse pays as much attention to the sensitivities of social acceptance as Helena does.” She nodded in her granddaughter’s direction and none of them were ignorant of her meaning. “You understand what this means, my love?”

Though Mrs Wells had seen the young inventor for long enough that morning to be assured of her wellbeing, she had not seen the newest development so had been quite surprised by Helena’s subtly changed appearance when she joined them at breakfast. Genevieve would have been quite satisfied to see her daughter pregnant were she married to a man of good breeding, but she would not abide _this._

“I do,” Helena assured the Wells matriarch firmly. “It will not be wise for me to return home like this. I shall have to spend some time elsewhere, until after the birth.”

“Your cousins’, in France,” Myka suggested from memory.

Two regents and a caretaker looked back and forth between the young couple, each of them harbouring a theory but none with the full details of what they were witnessing. What exactly _had_ passed during the night?

“I believe we would all enjoy a short tale of how love conquered all, what do you say, Agent Wells?” Caturanga sat back in his comfy chair, fingers steepled together, looking as unassuming as ever.

Helena’s eyebrow rose in amusement. “Very well,” she began and launched into a dramatic retelling of events that had been trying for each of them at the time. She finished by placing her free hand over her small bump and announcing that, during the night, while holding Myka’s hand through a redoubled bought of fever, she had asked to sacrifice her own life to save her love’s. The pregnancy, she believed, was a result of that wish.

“Can you describe the experience? I imagine the artefact must have behaved somewhat like a conduit,” Rupert responded once his granddaughter was silent again.

“Suffice it to say, it was what one might expect to feel while in the act of conceiving a child,” Helena answered boldly, appearing somewhat smug at the blushes, smiles and eye-rolls that circulated the room.

“You believe that Helena should live out her confinement in France?” Mrs Wells asked, facing Myka and distracting their attention from her Little One’s mischief. “You must mean our grandson, Harold, yes?”

Myka nodded, sobering. “From what I was told, Christina was born in Paris while Helena was staying with her cousins.” She turned to meet the inventor’s gaze and felt her heartbeat catch sharply; _she will live and die there._

She tried to clear her mind of the thought, of images of mausoleums, her little girl’s coffin and HG’s grief-stricken madness. A stray wondering thought asked her where her daughter’s murderers could be right now, and was there really no way to prevent all that was to happen?

Without Christina’s death, there would be no birth. She thought of the young woman who had sent them the time-travelling artefact in the first place. She and her fiancée had been so certain that the young fugitive was their daughter. Had they been wrong or had Christina been tasked with ensuring her own existence, and by extension, her brother’s? What would become of them if Myka tried to interfere with the direction of their lives?

Her eyes closed to force back tears that stung and pooled against their lids. She felt a warm hand against her cheek and leant into it.

“Myka?” Helena’s concerned tone cut through the gathering tension in the room.

Loosely held curls waved as the future agent shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I wish...” Her voice trailed off as her throat closed around the words.

“That you could spare me the pain of watching her die,” HG finished the thought, drawing surprised and not so surprised stares from around the room. As everyone remained speechless, it was Myka’s gaze she focussed on. “What, but the death of our child, could induce me to abandon my entire family?” She pondered aloud. “Perhaps there are other possibilities but the battle your conscience wages is clear in your eyes, love. You want to save her, to save me, though you know that to do so, you must lose us both.”

The brunette nodded but took several slow breaths before she could speak. “ _You_ would find a way to save her,” she confessed, thinking of the many ways Helena had tried to reverse Christina’s fate.

“Without any knowledge of this eventuality, I imagine I will make quite a nuisance of myself, will I?” Helena tried to joke but it was strained. She could see the shadow of old injuries in her partner’s expression and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that she had caused those wounds somehow. “Christina appears to be like any other child her age, though somewhat brighter than average,” she added with a hint of pride, which finally elicited a wan smile from the American. “Other than the emotional upheaval we have all experienced this week, she appears unaffected by past tragedies. I asked for this,” she reminded the room. “I am prepared to stand by my choices. If I must walk through fire to have you and our children, then I will.”

Myka wrapped fingers around Helena’s bicep and dropped her forehead onto a shoulder, breathing slowly to bring her wayward emotions under control.

“We can reconvene in an hour or two if you would prefer to have some time alone?” Rupert suggested as they all witnessed the struggle happening before them.

The brunette’s hand tightened around HG’s arm and she straightened. “I... No, I’m fine.” She glanced at the inventor and back at their companions. “I’d prefer to know what we’re going to do from here on out so the rest of the day can be ours.” Focussing on the caretaker, she asked, “Has there been any change with the artefact?”

“Of course,” Caturanga answered with a curious smile.

“What!?” Myka blurted automatically and felt the body beside her turn rigid.

“It was humming along quite nicely when I looked in on it this morning, though I imagine it became active the moment this,” he gestured between the agents. “Exchange took place. There’s no need to worry yourself, Agent Bering; you have time to put your affairs in order and say your goodbyes.”

“You’re sure?” Myka asked anxiously, unable to stop her mind panicking as she imagined their portal home closing up and stranding them in this time.

“Quite sure,” the caretaker confirmed jovially. “It would not do for you to linger too long in this place but there is no harm in waiting until, shall we say, tomorrow?”

It seemed like a lifetime to wait after the length they’d already been there but as Myka became more aware of the sudden stoic vibes coming from the inventor, she knew that they needed that time just for them.

“Why is this happening?” she asked after a short silence drifted over them. “Why does the Warehouse need Christina? Do we have any answers yet, or is this another thing you have to be tight-lipped about?”

Rupert’s expression held a hint of guilt while the other elders maintained their masks.

“We believe that it intends to protect itself from vengeful forces both outside and within its walls,” Eleanor announced gravely.

“It will purpose our child to that need?” Helena asked, voicing the horror that Myka felt.

“After a fashion,” the caretaker responded. “To a certain extent though, they will be allowed to lead a normal life.”

“They?” Helena interrupted before her grandmother could step in.

Myka placed a hand over her bump and finished the thought. “Christina isn’t the only one it needs. She’s here to ensure that Helena makes it to the future, but her brother will be involved too?” At three simultaneous nods, she rose to her feet, walked a few paces in no particular direction as she chewed on her lip and then returned to stand behind her partner. “How do you know all this?”

“Part of being the caretaker involves knowing the ‘mind’ of the Warehouse.” Caturanga began to explain. “Most of the time, it lingers in the background but very occasionally, I experience forces of thought that can only originate with it. It is almost like having a vivid dream though without pictures. For instance, I knew before Agent Wells joined the Warehouse that she was going to be an extraordinary addition to our ranks.”

“If we are to believe that it merely wishes to create a protector, for what reason did it choose us?” HG enquired and glanced up to see a curly-haired head nod along to her thinking. “I withdraw my objections to arranged marriage if this is the result,” she teased her partner. “But surely there are easier ways for the Warehouse to bring two people together to procreate.”

“With regards to this, our answer is somewhat of a theory.” The caretaker turned to the regents and allowed them to pick up the thread of the conversation.

“We believe that it needed two people who would be drawn to one another regardless of time or space; soul mates, for what of a better phrase,” Rupert told the agents, his expression making it clear that he approved of the notion. “It also required individuals who were already aware of its existence, to maximise the likelihood that their children would grow up with an understanding of the magic that exists in the world.”

“Choosing from its agents would also improve the odds of finding a couple who were both mentally and physically skilled; traits which they could pass to their children.” Eleanor watched the anger and indignation fade slowly from the couple’s faces. “With criteria like that, it’s no wonder that it worked so hard to bring the two of you together... We also think that you might not be the first attempt,” she added to the agents’ surprise.

“What? How...? Who?” Myka spluttered.

“You?” Helena added, gesturing between her grandparents, following a hunch.

“Circumstance seemed set on keeping us apart,” Eleanor continued. “That we came together at all following my continued refusals and subsequent pressure from Rupert’s parents to call of any hint of interest on his behalf.”

“Following an instinct, and after some digging through the archives, I discovered the mould used to forge your grandmother’s rings,” Mr Wells addressed HG. “Unbeknownst to me it was in use at the independent jewellers I chose to craft them. The description mentions it having been imbued with the properties of Hephaestus.”

“If I were to turn this into a novel,” Helena grimaced. “It would be ridiculed as the worst piece of convoluted nonsense ever written.”

“Reality truly can be stranger than fiction,” Caturanga smiled serenely from his seat.

Myka thought about how he never gave anything away in his manner and realised that it was no wonder Helena never won a game against him. She was reminded of Mrs Fredrick and the words they’d exchanged at New Year’s. “So it chose you but for whatever reason, you were unsuitable, so it searched further and found us?”

“It is mostly conjecture. I believe that perhaps the timing of this miracle birth was the reason it couldn’t use us,” Eleanor admitted. “But that is out thinking.”

A soft, thoughtful silence permeated the room as everything they’d discussed got ping-ponged around Myka and Helena’s thoughts, the future agent once more joining the Victorian on the couch as they considered the destiny the Warehouse had thrust upon them.

“It doesn’t look like we have much choice,” the American said at long last. She turned to Helena who looked as if she wasn’t sure how to interpret that comment. “I don’t ever want to give you or our children up. I love the life we’re building.” She felt a hand slide back into her own and she squeezed in reassurance. Turning back to the elders, she decided to move the conversation onto the things they did know and could control. “So what’s the plan for tomorrow? What’s going to happen to everyone else once Christina and I are gone?”

“We have already made some preparations for your departure.” Eleanor jumped right in as she appreciated Myka’s need to be alone with Helena. “We propose using a Mnemosyne ritual bowl to store Helena’s memories and a rather curious notebook we acquired recently from a professor Hermann Ebbinghaus to encourage everyone else you’ve met to slowly forget that you were ever here.”

“How will the ritual bowl work?” Myka asked, her concern for her fiancée’s memories paramount in her mind.

“She will simply focus on every memory and thought she has of you and Christina and they will be siphoned into the water in the bowl. Her memories will reside there until she drinks from it.” Mrs Wells answered succinctly. She eyed the agents closely, watching their expressions tighten with further questions and concerns. “The bowl will be held at the Regent’s vault under timed control. They will be accessible once Myka returns home.” She looked to her husband with a raised eyebrow, asking silently whether he wanted to add anything.

Rupert nodded and rose from his chair. “I suggest the two of you take some time to discuss your future while you have the opportunity. There are, no doubt, many issues that are troubling you after all that has occurred, particularly this past week.” He moved to stand by his wife and placed a hand against her lower back before looking back at the agents and almost winking. “Communication is a vital component to a successful marriage,” he offered before leading Eleanor and Caturanga from the room.

The moment they were alone, Helena brought a hand up to stroke Myka’s cheek, drawing the brunette’s attention so she could lean in to kiss her.

It started with a soft, slow peck; reassurance that they still had one another, here and now, but as the American melted into her touch, she felt that inferno ignite again and tunnelled tingling fingers into a mass of curls as she pushed forward.

Myka gasped at the sudden pleasurable assault, recalling the night before her illness, when they had spent over an hour kissing in Charles’ library. She sank her own hands into raven locks and tugged the inventor impossibly close for several long minutes. Eventually, as her brain chose to remind her of where they were, she pulled back and held her partner at bay, hands pressed against shoulders, precariously close to what she could only think of as Helena’s heaving bosom.

“I have never had anyone kiss me the way that you do,” HG confessed in a half-dazed manner.

Myka chuckled and stole another quick kiss before pushing herself further along the couch; further from temptation. “I could say the same about you. Perhaps that’s just one of the perks of being someone’s soul-mate?” she added with a teasing smile before the weight of the morning’s revelations hit her and her expression faltered. Glancing down at the Victorian’s small bump, she reached out a hand and then hesitated. “May I?” she asked tentatively.

Without saying a word, Helena closed the distance between them again and captured Myka’s hovering hand before placing it over her belly. She watched green eyes widen, soften and then tear up. “You never have to ask to touch me,” the inventor declared, meaning every word in that moment. She kept her one hand over the time traveller’s and slowly reached out with the other to join with the brunette’s to place over an identical bump. “We will do everything within our power to provide them with the lives they deserve. One way or another, love.”

Feeling emotional exhaustion settle into her body, Myka leant forward again, this time to rest her head in the curve between Helena’s neck and shoulder. She stayed there, just breathing and savouring the sensation of both of their twins together. Her mind flitted between contentment in the knowledge that they would all be a family again when she returned home in less than twenty-four hours, and the fact that she was leaving Helena to live through the worst moments in her life without her. “Should I tell you?” she murmured plaintively. “I feel like you should at least have the chance to make an informed decision.” She sat up, thinking aloud and gazed at the Victorian with a helpless expression.

“Can you reverse our positions in your mind, darling? Imagine that you will be the one to face this tragedy?” Helena asked calmly and then continued as Myka nodded. “Knowing what you know, what would you choose? Keep the child and the chance to eventually spend your future with your soul mate, though paying a heavy price in the process, or abort the child and live with an unknown mediocrity?”

Curly hair bobbed as a head inclined in understanding. “I would choose this,” she gestured towards their joined hands and their unborn children. “And you, regardless of what I might suffer in between.”

“Then you have your answer.” The inventor held Myka’s hands against her knees as she gazed intently into anxious eyes and smiled sadly. “I would like to say that I will miss you until I see you again, though I will not know you to make that possible. I believe a part of me will still ache from the absence of you, love. My skin will know this touch,” she stroked along the future agent’s palms and enclosed her wrists. “My heart will know this pounding rhythm,” she pulled their hands to her chest and buried them between her breasts. “My lips will know this caress,” she whispered as she shifted and pressed her mouth lightly over Myka’s, capturing the whimpering sigh that escaped.

Being ultimately forced to part to join the rest of the household, Myka nevertheless continued to contemplate her partner’s words. As they found Christina and Charles engaged in an animated debate on the pros and cons of horses verses trains, they reluctantly drifted a few metres apart and settled for exchanging the odd heated glance.

Myka recalled the first time she laid eyes on the inventor while she and Pete were ‘ransacking her home’. Those early moments as she tried to process the idea of HG Wells being a woman; the undeniable pull she felt even as she worried for Agent Lattimer’s safety; the electric tingle that passed through her as Helena’s hands brushed hers around a pair of handcuffs; weeks later, the confusion she felt as she pressed a fugitive against a wall by her neck and had to resist the urge to lean in to kiss her; the knowing smirk that hinted at depths of wanton desire as she released her captive... In hindsight, there were numerous moments when Agent Bering had been a thrall to Agent Wells’ magnetic presence. The _knowing_ would transfer both ways.

Charles stayed until long after dinner. He threw several questioning looks his sister’s way but it wasn’t until saying his final goodbyes at the door that he broke down and insisted that she tell him how she had come by her current state. ‘In the usual way, Charles,’ Helena had answered him, begging him not to waste his breath by trying to lecture her. ‘What is done, is done. There is little more to be said.’ Then she briefed him on what her whereabouts would be until the summer and how she intended to excuse the addition of a child in their lives.

He left with her words ringing in his ears and promised to have a bag ready for her when she passed by the house the following evening.

After Myka managed to convince her daughter that it was time for bed, Christina begged Helena to read her to sleep. They finished Oliver Twist with the girl’s head deadening the inventor’s arm and her fingers locked tightly around the fabric of her dress so that she jerked from her semi-slumber every time the adult tried to escape.

When, at long last, the two agents emerged, they stood awkwardly for a moment between the guest room and Helena’s. The proper thing to do would be to retreat to the library or the parlour to spend an hour or two in companionable conversation before reluctantly retiring for the evening. Between the two agents though, a siren’s song tempted them in an altogether different direction.

Green gazed into brown, the air crackling for an indeterminable amount of time until a door snapped shut close by and the women jumped, eyes smiling as they met again from beneath lowered lashes.

Myka took a hesitant step forward and then another. She reached out, the tips of her fingers coming to rest across the delicate skin of pale wrists, eliciting a shiver that rippled down the inventor’s spine, making her breath catch.

“Myka,” Helena’s voice trembled.

Thoughts whirred erratically amidst the fluttering excitement of need and want. Myka unconsciously licked her lips, her fingers playing along forearms, closing softly to claim, pausing on the cusp of taking what was hers. Should she throw caution to the wind for one night? Her first time with Helena had been a rushed, if passionate affair on the couch in Leena’s library. While wonderful in its own way, the memory, for Myka, was forever tainted by the retrospective knowledge that the newly reinstated agent had been plotting to betray her at the time. Helena’s memory of their first time didn’t have to be the same though.

Hands now gripping the American’s elbows, HG took in the fire behind green eyes and swallowed.

Something had to break. If they stood as they were for much longer, someone would catch a glimpse of their charge-filled almost-embrace and all of their careful behaviour, and lucky moments alone, would be spoilt. It was all very well to be suspected of an indiscretion but quite another to be caught in the act. Helena found herself, for the first time, thinking of the consequences to finally killing her reputation. She moved ever so slightly closer to her bedroom door, tugging the future agent with her.

“Just this night,” HG whispered, her voice tight with anticipation.

Myka followed the lead, entering the young inventor’s room, her mouth finding Helena’s before the door had closed behind her back. Forced against the heavy wood, she felt her lover fumble with the lock and then heard it slide into place. She hummed her approval as the Victorian’s hands slid around to her lower back and the lengths of their bodies pressed together. Raven hair felt silky and cool against her hands but she burned inside, each caress of Helena’s lips stoking the fire.

Using the door as leverage, she stepped forward, guiding them further into the room. She tugged at strong roots, encouraging her lover’s head to tilt backward, leaving a long expanse of neck vulnerable to hungry lips.

Myka fell upon Helena’s skin like a parched woman discovering an oasis. Feeling the inventor’s heartbeat race along her throat spurring her onward, she brought her teeth and tongue to an exposed earlobe. HG’s legs buckled and she grabbed the American’s hips as a strangled moan escaped, echoing around the room.

Finding her voice in pieces, Helena held on tightly to Myka’s dress and uttered, “Darling... we would do well... to keep the volume... to a minimum.”

“Then I suggest you learn how to be quiet, Helena,” Myka whispered unapologetically into the shell of an ear. She ran her fingers along the top of HG’s dress and, one by one, teased open the fastenings. Her mouth captured the gasp that fell from her partner’s lips before she added, “I’m going to make love to you and I intend to take my time.”

Eyes closing, the inventor swallowed her sudden nerves and focussed on the feeling of Myka’s hands as they continued to work on her clothing. Where had this adolescent anxiety come from? She was HG Wells for crying out loud; women were putty in _her_ hands, not the other way around. When her eyelids fluttered open and she found her lover’s intense gaze pinning her again, she quickly realised that the difference was in how she felt about this particular woman. Previous trysts were flesh on flesh with little consideration for feelings. Loving Myka amplified every sensation to the point of being overwhelming. She was buggered if she was going to let a little thing like nerves damped their evening though.

Myka listened to her instincts as she watched the play of emotions pass across her favourite shade of brown. She didn’t stop in her motions, but took her time until a fierce determination stared back at her and she leant in to meet Helena’s lips halfway.

It took a great deal more time than the future agent was used to for them to rid each other of their many layers. Never before had Myka felt so much appreciation for a simple shirt and pants combination. After much internal cursing and impatient fumbling, she drew Helena under the covers and pulled her close, hands and lips immediately exploring curves and plains. She drank in every gasp, groan and sigh that she could until she could resist temptation no longer and moved south to wrap her lips around a straining nipple.

Thinking of her fiancée, Myka pushed Helena’s body to its limit as she relearned her shape, her taste, the pillow-muffled sound of her voice and combined scent of their love. Her own pleasure peaked with the Victorian’s often enough that she was sated and exhausted by the time they lay together, on the brink of sleep and HG began to complain in hoarse tones that she had barely been given chance to embark on any exploring of her own. After one or two fatigued attempts to rekindle the flame, Myka chuckled lightly at the expression of frustration on Helena’s face and pulled her close to kiss away her pout.

“You’ll get your chance, Helena. We’ll have the rest of our lives together to spend the occasional night making love until the early hours.” She smiled into the crook of her lover’s neck. “We have our honeymoon to look forward to.”

“You will make sure they return my memories to me in a timely fashion?” the inventor queried, her one comforting thought being the little amount of time that she would be consciously aware of Myka’s absence.

“I promise.” Myka wrapped her arms further around the figure beside her and automatically placed both hands over her belly when HG turned over into the spooned position. “I know I've told you this several times tonight, but I don't think I can say it enough; I love you, Helena. Always and forever.”

The Brit turned her head just enough to gaze into intense green and felt her world swim in their depths. She met Myka in a slow, reassuring kiss before relaxing back into her arms. “I love you too, darling.”

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swapping between the present and the past. Myka and Christina prepare to go home.

** London, 1890 **

Myka woke in time to catch the distant sound of the hall clock striking five. Perhaps two hours had passed since she’d fallen asleep with Helena in her arms, their bodies still tingling with the aftershocks of intimacy shared. The inventor had barely shifted from her position, so deep was her slumber, and Myka was loathed to disturb the sleeping beauty but she had promised Christina that she would be with her when the girl woke in the morning and snuggling back into the warm embrace would leave her perilously close to breaking that promise.

Extracting herself from the confides of the heavy quilt and her lover’s arms, Myka found as many pieces of her clothing as she could and pulled her slip over her head. She hesitated by the side of the bed and gazed down at the young, pre-bronzed form of the woman she loved, absorbing the last opportunity to watch the inventor sleep without the cloying weight of her conscience pressing down on her.

She could have stayed there to regret all of the horrors she was unable to prevent; agonised over their daughter’s fate; felt trapped and manipulated by the Warehouse and some of the people associated with it, but she didn’t. Last night, feeling Helena in her arms again, she appreciated how miraculous their situation really was. Born more than a hundred years apart, their love, their life, their children, should have been impossible and though that miracle came at a cost, she knew deep down that she would pay it again to have the chance to spend the rest of her life with this woman.

Crouching by the side of the bed, the American stroked Helena’s hair from her face and placed a lingering kiss across her lips. She called the Brit’s name several times, smiling fondly as groans and grunts met her efforts.

“Helena!” She tried one last time in a loud whisper.

Brows pulled together and dark eyes blinked sleepily open. “Hmm... Myka?”

“You don’t have to get up,” the brunette soothed. “I need to get back to Christina but I didn’t want you to wake up later and not know why I left. I’m sorry I had to wake you.”

The inventor sank back down into her pillow and smiled lovingly up at the vision before her. Someday, she was going to marry this woman and wake up each morning to the image of those messy curls and expressive green eyes. “I am grateful that you did.” She reached out with one arm and cupped her lover’s chin, encouraging her closer. Myka’s mouth closed over hers and they sighed softly into the kiss. “I would join you but I think our presence in the same bed will be difficult to explain now that you are well again.”

The future agent paused as she studied the inventor’s tired but alert features. “Tomorrow, Christina and I will be in our home, reunited with you, and with your memory back, this moment will feel like it happened just yesterday.”

Helena’s eyes sparkled with hope. “I can hardly wait. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Myka kissed the raven-haired woman again and then tore herself away. “Get some sleep,” she winked from the doorway before disappearing.

* * * * *

Apparently, being just as tired as her parents, Christina woke in her Mama’s arms to find the fire already lit and mid morning light streaming in through the gaps in the curtains.

They were going home today. Uncle Charlie had spent all afternoon with her the day before and she still wished they could take him with them, but she wanted to remember him when she was living with him and Mummy. Mama had tried to explain why it was ok for her and Mummy to live in the future but not to pull other people out of the past to join them. It sounded complicated but she had reluctantly agreed that it was a bad idea to play with time.

Looking at her Mama, Christina was grateful that the adult had kept her promise. There was something about this place that made her afraid to wake up on her own. It wasn’t long before her fidgeting woke her mother and green eyes opened to peer sleepily at her while long arms pulled her into a hug.

“Good morning my little one,” Myka mumbled through a yawn, unconsciously echoing Eleanor. “Are you ready for today?” she asked cautiously, her mind stuck between hope, anticipation and sorrow.

“I’m looking forward to going home and seeing Mummy when she remembers me from a long time ago,” Christina said honestly. “I like Mummy now but she doesn’t know all the games I like to play or what my hobbies are. She doesn’t know me properly yet.” She paused as her Mama sat up and tried to tame her hair. “She has a bigger tummy now. I felt it yesterday. Is she pregnant with me, Mama?”

Myka stared at her daughter, astonished as she still sometimes was with the girl’s train of thought. There were times when the eight-year-old seemed about to ask a question but then changed her mind and held back. Then there were times when she would spout a fountain of questions that appeared to be never ending. Myka was beginning to understand that her daughter was very private with her innermost thoughts and tended to keep personal inquiries to herself. She made a mental note to talk to her fiancée about it when she had the chance.

“Yes Sweetheart, you guessed it,” the agent answered softly. “I think she’s really excited about being your Mummy.”

The young girl sat with her legs crossed and cocked her head uncertainly. “Do you really think so?”

Myka’s breath caught at the utter vulnerability staring back at her and she leant forward to place her hands on either side of her daughter’s head. “Look at this perfect face.” She purposefully squished the girl’s cheeks together, making her features comical, and chuckled with relief when Christina laughed and batted her hands away. She cupped the eight-year-old’s chin and looked into her eyes, waiting until she had her undivided attention. “I know so,” she answered the question hanging in the air. “You’re a gift to both of us. How could she not be excited?”

Christina’s expression morphed gradually into a radiant smile and she began to bounce slightly in place. “Ok!” she exclaimed before rolling off the bed and beginning to look for her clothes to start the day.

* * * * *

** Warehouse 13, 2015 **

HG entered the Warehouse with Christina seconds behind her. She was geared up to do battle with the caretaker and somehow she just knew that Irene would be here today. She heard her daughter mumbling behind her and smiled to herself. The girl was stubborn when her mind was set on something. _I cannot begin to imagine where she gets that from._

They passed through the umbilicus and stepped into the office, walking in on Pete stuffing his face, Meghan hovering over Artie’s shoulder and the director talking over his new agent as she tried to get a straight answer out of him. Agent Lattimer spotted the new arrivals and moved stealthily around the table to greet them.

“HG,” he spat around the half-chewed doughnut in his mouth. “Save me; she’s crazy.” He grabbed her forearms and stared desperately into her eyes. “Jase couldn’t cut it with her so as senior agent while Mykes is away, I’ve got to take her under my wing.”

Helena glanced behind her fiancée’s best friend to watch the tug of war ensuing between Artie and the rookie agent.

“I thought this thing was supposed to find any hint of a disturbance out there,” Agent Coombs complained. “Why isn’t it pinging?”

“It won’t ‘ping’ for something that isn’t out there!” the director slammed his hand on the desk in frustration.

Christina helped her mother peel Pete’s hands from her arms and frowned over her shoulder. “What’s she so upset about?”

“Someone juiced up her mojo. She’s been climbing the walls all morning, looking for a disturbance in the force.” Pete hopped from one foot to the other. “It’s upsetting my vibes...”

“Lattimer!” Artie’s furious tone filled the room, making the agent jump.

“Jeez, Artie,” Pete grumbled as he turned towards the source of all the tension. “I’m right here, there’s no need to shout.”

Agent Nielson caught sight of the two women standing behind Pete and swivelled round in his seat. “What are you doing here?”

Unmoved by the tone she had slowly become used to again, HG simply raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “I came to have a few choice words with Mrs Fredrick.”

“She’s not here,” Artie informed her abruptly before spinning back to his desk.

“She will be,” Agent Wells muttered under her breath.

“You,” Artie pointed at Meghan, who was beginning to look upset rather than angry now. “I want you to take Pete and go through everything you’ve touched in the past twenty-four hours. I want a comprehensive list before you come back in here. I’ll keep an eye on the system while you’re gone.” His tone softened marginally before he shooed her away. When Pete and Meghan were gone, he turned back to the two ex-Victorians. “If we’re still of the opinion that Agent Bering will return in her own time,” he looked enquiringly at Christina, who nodded. “Then there’s no need to bother Mrs Fredrick.”

“This isn’t about Myka,” Helena responded, ignoring his attitude. She had come to understand that Artie’s hard personality hid a soft centre and that he actually cared a lot for the people under his guidance. Most of them anyway. “Though I’m sure she’ll be interested to hear what Mrs Fredrick has to say on the matter of bronzing our daughter.”

Bushy eyebrows pulled together. “Why would she...?” He took note of the guilty expression behind the teen’s eyes and grunted. “Figures,” he mumbled. “And I suppose _you_ want to find an alternative?” he asked HG.

Stalking further into the room, the inventor stood over the director’s desk, arms still folded. “Do I have permission to at least look?”

Agent Nielson glanced between the two women and considered Helena’s request. It pained him to admit that he felt a grudging seed of affection growing inside him. Though it had not been difficult to feel respect for the life she had lived, he had never liked or trusted her. No matter how far James had fallen, he mourned his friend’s passing, and this woman was the cause of that loss. Despite their history though, he was flexible enough to accept that she was trying to change and had done even before her daughter’s return.

 “I’ll see what I can find from here,” he said, surprising her with his offer to help. “Provided you give me your word to look but not touch!”

HG stared at him, her hands now hanging by her sides. “Will you trust my word?” she eventually asked.

“I’ll try,” he responded with a grunt. “Take that one with you,” he pointed at Christina. “I don’t need any more interruptions today.”

HG rolled her eyes but decided not to complain about his poor manners; she wasn’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth. She led her daughter to the stairs and together, they descended. As her feet touched the Warehouse floor, her hand flew up to grasp at the ring around her neck. The heat from it had almost doubled and it became unbearable against her chest.

Christina passed her mother and felt a ripple of energy run through her body. She turned to face the inventor. “What is it?”

Helena stared, open-mouthed at the teen. “It’s hot,” she blurted and then after a beat, “You’re glowing.”

Looking down at herself, the young woman smiled softly. She glanced at the ring, which was humming along with the ethereal glow. “It’s happening.”

* * * * *

** London, 1890 **

What was left of the morning seemed to pass without any consideration for the want of long goodbyes so that, come afternoon, Myka was surprised to find herself sitting next to Helena in a carriage, taking a final lasting look at the house that had become almost like a home to her over the past month. She felt a hand squeeze hers as the wheels began rolling and her attention was drawn away from the window.

Helena’s eyes held her own and with a sudden desire to shut out the world, Myka pulled the curtain closed and leant her head against the inventor’s shoulder. Christina had chosen to ride to the Warehouse with her great grandparents, leaving the two agents alone for the short journey.

As they trundled towards their destination, conflict returned to the future agent and a sense of anxious anticipation reared its head; the point of no return was drawing near. She breathed in her partner’s scent and tried to focus on something calming. She had already decided on her course of action; the alternative being to push her children completely out of existence, and as she knew that she could never do that, she quickly realised that there was not much point in wallowing in self-pity. Of course, knowing and feeling were often two very different entities.

HG felt the tension in Myka’s body gradually seep out as she ran her hands through her lover’s hair and whispered reassurances into her ear. As her own nerves beat their warnings, she sat fast in the belief that they were doing the right thing. The beautiful brunette was her destiny. The life force inside her acted like an anchor, keeping her from wavering in her decision, making her determined to face any hardships that came her way in order to earn the privilege of a life with this family.

It amazed the American how quickly her emotions could go from one extreme to another. Memories from the previous evening assaulted her mind as the feel of Helena’s fingers conjured up an image of their passionate encounter. Glancing up to meet dark eyes, Myka shivered. The rolling turmoil inside made her movements desperate as she enveloped the inventor’s head between her hands and dove into an all encompassing kiss. Helena moaned into her mouth as she pulled a lower lip between her teeth.

Uncaring of their surroundings, they fell together against the side of the carriage, hands roaming, searching for gaps between clothing. Helena’s rose beneath the many layers of Myka’s skirt, her wandering digits finding their home in no time, her lips falling over Myka’s to swallow the energised moan that escaped.

The brunette thanked her stars that Helena had chosen to wear a pair of newly altered trousers. In her current state, she wasn’t sure she would be able to navigate the many folds of fabric normally worn by Victorian females. After some fumbling, buttons released from their holdings, leaving room for Myka to slip inside.

Hot breaths were exchanged in the small space, steam appearing in puffs whenever the carriage let in a gust of icy air. They moved together, furiously pushing one another to loftier heights, exhilaration filling their veins with the knowledge that only a curtain separated them from the critical masses just beyond.

Myka briefly recalled her fiancée muttering teasing descriptions of this very act and bucked under the realisation that Helena had somewhat remembered this moment.

Their passions exploded, one setting off the other as cries of pleasure were muffled into shoulders and clothes. With no real idea of how long they had indulged their desire for one another, both agents made quick work of checking their appearances before HG took a peek outside and then sat back with a relieved sigh.

Helena ran her hands through her hair and smiled at Myka. She entwined their fingers and placed a soft, lingering kiss on the American’s lips. “You stir the deepest passions in me, darling. I have never before been quite so oblivious to my surroundings as I am with you.”

Chuckling at the thought of their adolescent behaviour and Helena’s confession, Myka relaxed and gazed fondly at the woman she loved. She felt so lucky to be getting a glimpse of the young inventor at this point in her life. She was looking forward to getting home and being there when her fiancée recovered her memories.

Determined to enjoy these last few moments alone with the young Victorian, the future agent dropped her head back onto HG’s shoulder and closed her eyes. Focussing on the sway of the carriage; the clip-clop of hooves; the chatter of numerous strangers going about their daily business; but most of all, the flutter of her love’s heart beating in tandem with her own as she committed the moment to memory.

* * * * *

** Warehouse 13, 2015 **

As the glow around her daughter began to fade and the ring in her hand lost its excess heat, Agent Wells folded her arms across her chest and leant on her back foot, her gaze zeroing in on the teen.

“What, pray tell, is happening?” Helena, asked her tone demanding.

Christina’s triumphant expression melted, leaving a certain sheepishness in its place. “The reason I had to send Mama to the past,” she confessed and then quickly added, “This means she’ll be back soon.”

HG’s eyes closed tightly and, for the time it took her to absorb and deal with this information, a hand came up to cover her face. Her thoughts from the previous evening returned; she had been right, Christina was a product of her and Myka’s coupling in the past. An event that had apparently just occurred. Her stomach somersaulted. Had they been intimate? Had Myka slept with her when she was just a young, carefree, relatively burden-less adult? Had she enjoyed it? Preferred it? She shook the thought from her mind and considered the miracle that stood in front of her. Certainty filled her and she took a breath before she looked at her daughter again.

“You’re a twin?” she wondered aloud and then burst into startled laughter as she remembered the teen’s early childhood. Tears sprang to her eyes as she connected more pieces of the puzzle. “We’re having a boy.”

Christina’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “How did you...?”

“Freddy had to go everywhere with us, do you remember?” She saw a spark of recognition and continued. “You wouldn’t make any decision without his approval. It stopped after your time in Limbo. I wonder why.”

Fredrick had been a part of her daughter’s personality since she first began showing signs of co-operative play, or so Helena had thought, but looking back now, had there been more to her behaviour even before that? Many times, she had witnessed her baby girl reacting to things that the inventor couldn’t see. Being a first time mother, she had brushed it off as an adorable quirk of infants and simply took comfort in the fact that her child was happy and healthy. As Christina grew, the quirk became an imaginary friend and as her work for the Warehouse had continued to take her away from home on occasion, she had been supportive of anything that made her little girl smile, no matter how much people told her that it was queer.

The teen smiled softly to herself. “It didn’t,” she confessed. “I just stopped saying it out loud for a while.”

HG stepped close to her daughter and pulled her into a hug. How had being separated from her twin affected her child? Not having wanted to stunt her daughter’s creativity, she had encouraged her imagination and allowed the imaginary friend to take shape. She even remembered feeling affectionate towards this figment, assuming that it was because Christina was happy when she was ‘playing’ with Freddy. Had it been nothing more than false assumption on her part?

“Are you alright, love? I can’t imagine how you must have felt. Or how you feel now.” Helena stroked the girl’s cheek, guilt bubbling up once more.

Christina smiled and nodded. “I always felt like he was with me. I guess I assumed everyone felt that way until I knew the truth. When Mama and I returned from the past, it was strange, like having a part of myself outside my body; I think whatever connection we had in the womb continued through her, and then between the two of us after he was born.” She shrugged as if it was completely normal to feel that way. “It has done ever since. It must be our connection to the Warehouse; time and space don’t get between us. Even now, it’s like he’s with me. Rick and I have never really been apart.”

Helena felt some of the tension leave her body and she chanced a smile at the nickname. “As in Fred _rick_?”

“Yeah,” Christina played with her hair, looking mildly bashful. “When he started to talk, ‘Christina’ was a bit of a mouthful. The most he could manage was ‘Tina’. It stuck so I started calling him ‘Rick’. It’s our thing.”

HG felt a tightening in her throat while her smile widened of its own accord and more tears pricked at her eyes. For all of the hope that she had for the future, she hadn’t wanted to examine it too closely. She knew that all of the possibilities would inevitably lead her to imagine the potential horrors too and that was something she had been slowly training herself not to dwell on.

This morsel of information, this snippet of insight into the normal, everyday functioning of her family, was a light at the end of the tunnel. A memory from earlier in the week popped into her head and she latched onto it.

“Do we also have a cat?” she asked, not thrilled by the idea but eager for more information. “Agent Wickes mentioned something you muttered in your sleep. Something about ‘Rick the cat’, or so he thought.”

Christina’s expression appeared to falter for a second before she regained control. “Erm, not exactly.” At her mother’s curious look, she shrugged and smiled wryly. “You’ll see.”

Dark eyes narrowed in playful threat but the teen merely chuckled and turned to wander off. The inventor shook her head, intrigued and slightly frustrated but amused at the same time. What was not exact about having or not having a cat? Did they have another domestic animal, a dog perhaps by the name of ‘Cat’? She could not envision agreeing to a canine addition to their household any more than a feline.

Christina led them to the HG Wells section where Helena’s time machine remained crated up. They had agreed to begin there, knowing that the ‘time’ section was close by, but as they approached, a surprise awaited.

“I believe you wished to see me, Agent Wells,” the imposing caretaker greeted as HG’s expression regained its fierce indignation. Hands folded primly over her clutch, she appeared unaffected by the inventor’s ire, instead turning to Christina. “You will not mind if I speak privately with your mother?” She watched the teen shake her head and almost cracked a smile. “Wonderful. This way if you please, Agent Wells.”

Helena exchanged a questioning glance with her daughter, who shrugged again, and then followed the caretaker with renewed determination.

* * * * *

** London, 1980 **

With Christina’s hand in hers and Helena hovering close to her side, Myka followed the two regents and Caturanga into the bowels of Warehouse 12. All of the active agents were conveniently out on assignment, though Agent Kipling was in the office as they passed through, his expression souring as he caught sight of the American.

“I should like to be rid of him permanently,” the inventor mumbled as they passed into the chasm of the storage area and began walking by the towering shelves. “Though not before I introduce him to the business end of the stunner he used on you. A taste of his own medicine might finally humble him.”

Myka smiled fondly at the young woman, appreciating her protective instincts. Reaching out across the scant distance that sat between them, she found Helena’s hand and slid her own around it.

“My hero,” she whispered teasingly, smiling at the blush that crept along the Brit’s neck. They shared a look, savouring the moment as they were led into a side room.

Agent Bering immediately zoned in on the small dais in the centre of the room and the array of objects that sat apart inside glass cases upon a table. Off to one side, a group of assorted wooden chairs awaited them. Christina made a bee-line for the rocking chair while the adults smiled and gathered around a low pedestal with her in a semi-circle. Caturanga began with Hermann Ebbinghaus’s notebook, placing it where Myka and her daughter could see and read it.

“This will be easy enough,” Rupert informed the pair while HG looked anxiously on. “Ebbinghaus studied memory retention by forming groups of simple phonics into nonsense words to measure the rate by which new information is lost. Quite simply, memories of the person or persons reading from this notebook are transferred into the short-term memory of anyone not in the immediate vicinity and those memories, useless actively retained by the subject, are lost within approximately twenty minutes.” He glanced around at their faces and smiled. “I think we might be ready to begin.”

Myka offered her daughter a reassuring smile and took her hand as she leant forward to scan over the pages of the note book. “How much should we read?”

Eleanor exchanged a look with her colleagues before turning back to the American. “Both pages you see here should be sufficient for the distance we require. You have not interacted with very many people. However, we do not wish to leave anything to chance.”

Agent Bering nodded in agreement. “Ok Sweetheart,” she began and stroked Christina’s hand. “Together?” The eight-year-old leant forward and they began to read. “Bal, bav, bij... emt, enk, etz...”

Mother and daughter formed a steady rhythm, reading in synchronisation until the end of the second page. Christina looked to her Mama when they finished with an expression that said ‘is that it?’ and Myka nodded. She couldn’t tell if it had had the effect they desired yet but she had felt something while reading so knew that the artefact was active. They had to trust that the regents and caretaker knew what they were doing.

_ One down, _ the brunette noted to herself. _It’s time._ She glanced at Helena and found dark eyes observing her intently, as if the inventor was trying desperately to absorb as much as possible and commit her to memory. She knew that the effort would be futile against Mnemosyne but that the memories they made now could be shared with her fiancée once she and Christina returned home.

Breaking eye contact, she turned to the eight-year-old. “Are you ready to change back into your twenty-first century clothes?” She squirmed and tugged deliberately at her own dress. “I know I am.” She winked at the girl and delighted in the small smile that lifted an otherwise sombre expression.

Eleanor led them into an adjoining room and handed the future agent a bag with their original outfits. “I confess, I am a little envious of the colours and fabrics available to the two of you,” the regent commented, distracting her great granddaughter as she assisted the girl with her transformation. “I have never had much of a desire to follow the latest fashions. However, given the options you have, I believe I could be persuaded to change my mind.”

A knock at the door interrupted them just as Myka had finished zipping up her boots and congratulating herself for choosing to wear her maternity pants the day they were whisked away on this adventure. Though she was going home minus one baby, she’d still grown a little in the space of a month. She turned to the sound and saw the young inventor enter.

Helena’s eyes scanned over Myka, her interest obvious, but she quickly turned her attention to the eight-year-old. Kneeling, she pulled the girl towards her and inspected her outfit. “You look beautiful, my darling. Are you excited to be going home? I know I will be waiting impatiently for you to return.”

“To the future you mean, Mummy?” Christina clarified.

“Yes,” HG agreed, pulling a lock of wavy hair and letting it go to watch it bounce. “I will meet you in the future. Do you have a special message, something I can carry with me for when my memory returns?”

The eight-year-old wrapped her arm around the adult’s shoulder and carefully considered the question. “I would like Adelaide to come and stay with us when I turn nine,” she whispered into her ear. At Helena’s questioning expression, she grinned. “Addy’s my best friend!” she declared happily.

“Then I will do my very best to accommodate you,” HG assured the girl gently. She drew Christina into her arms and buried her nose into soap-scented strands.

“Will you be alright without us, Mummy?” Christina finally enquired, her expression hopeful.

Helena smiled warmly at the open concern. She kept finding new things to fall in love with where her daughter was concerned and latched onto this knowledge whenever she felt herself wanting to scream at the pair ‘do not go’. She was glad to have this space and time to say a final goodbye though, until they met again.

“I should think so,” she responded spiritedly. “I will soon have a little angel to keep me company after all.” Seeing her grandmother standing above them, her gaze flitted quickly over to Myka and back. “So, do we have an accord?” She held out a hand and waited until the girl shook it vigorously. “Aces! Now, go and see how much love you can squeeze out of your great-grandfather.” She leant forward and whispered into the girl’s ear, “He is awfully soft inside; I am working on a theory that he is actually filled with custard.”

Christina giggled, kissed the inventor and then grabbed Eleanor’s hand, dragging her out of the room calling, “We have a theory to test!”

Helena watched her go with a mixture of pride and longing. As she stood, she wiped away a tear and then turned to find long arms waiting to embrace her. “I want to say that I will miss you,” she mumbled into a leonine neck, her hands spreading flat against her lover’s back to bring their bodies as close as possible.

“But you won’t have chance to,” Myka finished the thought.

The inventor sighed. “A fact that I am both grateful for and despair of. I do not wish to spend a moment incognizant of your significance to my existence,” she elaborated.

Myka leant back so she could look Helena in the eye. “I’m grateful. I don’t want to think of one moment when you have to feel lonely without me. I think I’ve finally accepted that hardships must happen for us to be together so I’m choosing to let it go and focus on making the most of our family.” She stroked a hand across a pale cheek and watched as Helena closed her eyes and leant into her touch. Dropping her forehead against the inventor’s, Myka pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth and simply stood for a long moment, letting Helena feel every ounce of love she had to offer.

When a particularly deep sigh from the Brit broke them out of their trance, lips came together in one final farewell waltz, passion and tenderness equal in the lingering caress.

Releasing the future agent and taking a step back, Helena held Myka’s hands and glanced up and down at her outfit. “I knew that trousers would suit you. You look incredibly alluring in a dress, darling, but there is something very desirable about seeing the shape of those long legs encased in fabric. Very debonair.” She didn’t bother to hide her deep interest and smiled at the slight blush on Myka’s cheeks. “Do you often wear outfits like this?” She teased, now playing with the buttons around the brunette’s collar.

“Most of the time,” Myka responded, capturing HG’s hands to stop them wandering further. She wasn’t very confident that she could resist the pull of their attraction if she indulged their contact any further.

Taking the hint, the inventor smiled. “Something to look forward to,” she added, her eyelashes fluttering slightly as she swayed towards the door and brushed passed the half amused/half aroused American. “Come along, darling. The sooner you get on your way, the sooner we will be reunited and I can finally have my way with you.”

Myka shook her head and chuckled as she followed Helena from the room. “I’ll hold you to that,” she whispered.

Christina was sitting on Rupert’s lap, chatting animatedly with the regents and caretaker, but when she spotted her parents, she jumped up and ran to Helena, grabbing her hand. “He says it’s sponge cake, not custard.”

Myka left them to discuss the things that grandfather’s are made of and approached the Warehouse magnates. “Thank you for your hospitality and your help,” she began in earnest. “I won’t forget all you’ve done for us.” She held out a hand tentatively but wasn’t the least bit surprised when she was pulled into a tight hug. She’d thought she was prepared for it but as Eleanor’s arms pulled her close, she felt a new wave of emotion rise up in her throat, her muscles constricting and deadening her vocal chords.

“You are more than welcome, my dear. You are family now after all. I cannot think of anyone more deserving of my Helena’s devotion.” Mrs Wells caught her granddaughter’s eye over Myka’s shoulder and felt her words at her core. She released the brunette, leaving space for her husband. “We know that you will take care of our Little One.”

Myka hugged Rupert just as tight, now feeling the tears running along her cheeks. “I will. I’ll do everything I can to make sure they’re happy.”

“So long as you do not forget your own needs,” Mr Wells cautioned. “Give her an inch and she will take a mile. I imagine you already know when you must be tough though,” he sympathised as he too released her.

“You can say that again,” the future agent chuckled through her tears. She turned to the caretaker and instinctively knew that he wouldn’t hug her. She did find her offered hand grasped fondly between his two though and had to smile at the expression of delight on his face. “It’s been an honour to meet you too,” she declared. “Helena has been known to exaggerate on occasion. I’m glad to see that everything she’s said about you is true.”

“I guess she thinks that I am eccentric? Perhaps even mad?” He laughed. “Such cheek,” he added, seeming further amused by the idea. “I have no doubt that you and your family will do well. The Warehouse makes unusual choices sometimes but trust that it will always have our best interests at heart, Agent Bering.”

“I’ll try,” Myka conceded. “I wish we could take you all with us. She misses you.”

“Some things are simply not meant to be, my dear,” Rupert cautioned as he wrapped and arm around his wife’s waist.

Eleanor smiled at him and then turned to the American with a sly smile. “Stranger things happen at sea.”

Myka frowned but before she could respond, a hand touched her waist and her attention was diverted elsewhere.

“I do believe it is time,” HG announced and nodded towards dais.

They all followed the inventor’s gaze and her meaning became obvious. Beside the Mnemosyne bowl, where Helena’s memories were to be stored, the broken lever with the faux-diamond handle was giving off an aura of undeniable power. It might have been ready to use before but now it was clearly hinting that they should make haste.

Feeling a hint of panic replacing the misery of letting go of these wonderful people, Myka gazed at her future fiancée and hesitated. “Helena...”

HG swallowed all of the trepidation she felt at the final arrival of this moment. She stroked the back of her hand across her lover’s cheek and shook her head. There were no words for this moment. “Go, love. We will see one another soon.” She gazed down at Christina’s solemn expression and smiled. “You will take care of each other, will you not?”

The eight-year-old nodded and then, feeling a curious urgency inside, she tugged at her Mama’s arm to start her moving.

Together, they stood on the raised platform and gazed down at the artefact. Neither of them could bear to look back to see the emotions playing out behind them. Myka pulled her daughter firmly into her arms and laced the fingers of their left hands.

“Ready, Sweetheart?”

“Yes, Mama.”

In a maelstrom of wind and light, the pair were consumed and whipped from sight. 

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no place like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who left kudos. Pats on the back are much appreciated. :-D

Having expected Mrs Fredrick to lead her back to the office to talk, Helena was surprised when they ended up in the Pete Cave and the caretaker sat on the couch as if she wasn’t surrounded by the remnants of bachelordom.

Irene patted the space next to her, not appearing the least bit anxious considering the inventor’s history with the looming topic of conversation. “Helena,” she began, surprising the Brit further by using her first name and placing a calming hand on her knee. “First off, I want to congratulate you on the successful control you’ve shown this week. I apologise for my part in making this experience deliberately harder for you.”

Helena’s frown deepened as she absorbed the woman’s words. “You forced me into a corner to see how I would react?” she asked indignantly. “For what purpose? You treated me like a lab rat.”

“I do hope you’ll understand the imposition once I explain out intentions.” Irene placed her hands in her own lap. “We live in dangerous times, Agent Wells. The future of the Warehouse is uncertain and we need to protect those of us who would see to its survival. I am certain that you understand by now the unique position you and your family hold. It is imperative that you remain with us... and Myka.”

“How the bloody hell does torturing me protect me?” HG demanded, though some of her anger had evaporated with the caretaker’s words.

Irene took a deep breath, her usual stoic manner fading. “Unfortunately, there remain amongst the regents, disruptive elements. Not all were convinced of your redemption and underhand steps were made to ensure that you would be dealt with permanently should you step out of line again.”

Helena gritted her teeth and shifted in her seat, resisting the urge to jump up and pace. “So why attempt to elicit a reaction from me? It seems contradictory to your intention to keep me out of trouble.” She was aware that her tone was bordering on petulant and tried to rein it in.

“There was no benefit in pandering to your every whim, Helena. That behaviour was not likely to improve your reputation but only prove to some that you were still un-trustable. You had to be tested, and with Christina present, it seemed the best time to try. I hoped that she would help to keep you grounded and she did,” the caretaker explained and then sat back to await the inventor’s reaction.

It occurred to Helena that she should probably show some level of appreciation for the thought put into preventing her re-incarceration, or worse, but she was too indignant at their audacity to think that her life was something they could play with. She couldn’t deny that even she was happily surprised by her level of control. There was an almost childlike level of excitement bubbling inside her at the thought that she would have so much to be proud of when Myka returned. She was much too annoyed to admit that at the moment though. As a compromise, she decided to put the issue to one side and focus on what she had sought the caretaker out for in the first place; there wasn’t much she could do about events already passed.

“Very well, I can do little about the petty squabbles of those in the ivory tower. I will not however, sit by while you allow my child to throw herself on the cross of self-sacrifice.” Her explanation was stern and immovable as she stared the caretaker down. “Is she not destined to give enough for this place? My family has suffered enough.”

“It is precisely for that destiny that she _must_ be willing to sacrifice a part of herself,” Mrs Fredrick insisted, watching calmly as the inventor jumped from her seat and stalked the length of the room while running her fingers through her hair.

“No! She’s been through enough!” the Brit’s voice exploded across the room.

Irene’s eyebrow rose as her lip quirked at the corner. “Agent Wells, I think you’ve misunderstood my meaning. She must be _willing_ to make the sacrifice. That is all.”

HG stopped at half-stride and stared suspiciously over at the poised woman. “A more detailed explanation would be helpful,” she griped.

Before Mrs Fredrick could comment, a scrambling noise approached the door, followed by a thump before the red-headed techie appeared, holding what looked like a miniature tablet sewn into the front of a vest, which was bedazzled with wires and buttons.

“I got it, Mrs F! I’m a genius!” Claudia barged into the room and grinned at the two women who were still reeling from her entrance. “Hey, HG. Are you totally thrilled about this or what!?”

Helena glanced at the caretaker, who now appeared somewhat smug. “Thrilled about _what_ exactly?” she asked as she stared back at the enthusiastic young agent.

“About wha...?” Christina hesitated and pointed back and forth between the pair before she suddenly clicked. “Oops, premature entry? My bad.”

“It’s ok, Agent Donovan,” Irene nodded and smiled with approval. “Go ahead.”

Claudia bounced on the spot and turned her attention to the Brit. “Ok, so she told you about the deal with the sacrifice, right?”

Helena looked suspiciously between the pair. “Mrs Fredrick was just getting ready to explain why I should ignore the fact that the Warehouse is playing with my family.”

Taking a half-step backwards, the red-head took a second to suppress her instinctive need to fidget and drop things when the inventor gave her that look. No matter how long she’d been cheering for team HG, the Victorian would always make her nervous. “Sure, ok... awkward,” she whispered in an aside. Remembering why she was there in the first place, Claudia literally waved away the feeling and picked up her home-made accessory. “So, CJ’s the next gen in martyrdom, right? She has to prove that she’d got what it takes to put the welfare of others before herself, but she’s smart and tough; she wants time to live her life too. So she volunteers for the bronze. She knows it might not be an easy ride but at least she’ll emerge roughly the same age that she left her time.”

“That part I know,” HG insisted, feeling only a little guilty for continuing to terrorise the young woman. “She thinks that using an artefact to create a state of lucid sleep will help to keep her sane and trick her into thinking that time is passing quickly.” She was still sceptical and her disapproval showed in her expression.

Claudia however, grinned. “It will help, but here’s our guarantee.” She held up the vest and activated the small screen. “Once she’s bronzed, we’ll dress her in this. It monitors electrical impulses in the body and brain, sending data back to the app I programmed, allowing us to track her emotions and stress levels. We can also send positive feedback to her if she appears to be in any distress. The entire experience will be like a spa retreat. Neat, huh?”

It appeared to take a moment before the significance of this information sank in. Helena looked between Mrs Fredrick, Claudia and the vest for several seconds, trying to see a downside to the plan. Eventually, she moved to inspect the invention. “You’re sure it will work?” she asked, beginning to feel hopeful. She could see how it was supposed to work and almost kicked herself for not having considered it. Though given that she had only had a day to think about it, that wasn’t surprising. From the looks of things, Claudia had had advanced warning.

“I’ll walk you through it,” the techie enthused, jumping at the chance to talk shop with one of her idols.

Mrs Fredrick watched calmly as the two genius’ talked through the ins and outs of the vest’s capabilities, noting the way that the older agent’s expression morphed from tight-scepticism to relaxed acceptance. She sighed inwardly with relief; this would only work if Agent Wells was on board and it was best if they were all on the same page before Myka’s return, which was imminent.

“Why could you not have told me about this earlier in the week?” Helena retook her seat, holding the vest like a lifeline as she voiced her grievances. “Was this all part of the plan to drive me to the brink of madness?”

“I had every confidence in Miss Donovan’s abilities but I have never been one to rely on something that does not yet exist.” Irene shifted minutely. She wasn’t one to apologise for what was necessary either but on this occasion, she wished that there had been a better option. “In answer to your question, yes I kept this information from you deliberately. Your control had to be tested and Christina should not be made aware of any tampering in her plans.”

HG carefully placed the vest down and pushed her fingers into her hair as she took a deep, steadying breath. “Lord, you have turned give and take into an art form, do you know that? I would like to know what I am allowed to do in retaliation to test _your_ limits of control.” There was a long, pregnant pause before she shook her head and looked sideways at the caretaker. “How can you expect me to keep this a secret from her? To let her think that she might be in for ten years of mental anguish?”

Irene closed her fingers gently but firmly around the inventor’s wrist. “You will do it because she needs it. Because she needs to believe in herself. This is her journey and she has to see it through. That inner strength could go a long way to saving many lives. Your family included.”

Helena stared into the intense gaze holding her captive and slowly nodded. “Very well. What am I to tell her in the meantime?” She was conflicted. She felt like she already kept too many secrets from her daughter, but she was inclined to trust Irene. If keeping this information to herself would help her little girl, then she would do it.

“It is a moot point; she will push the subject soon enough and will demand that you let her make the choice.” Mrs Fredrick retrieved her hand and returned it to her clutch as she sat up primly. “You will simply have to make your performance believable. I don’t think that will be too difficult for you.”

Frowning with the effort to rein in her sudden need to shake the woman for information, HG continued to stare. “You know this because...?”

A jarring klaxon sound filled the room, interrupting the inventor’s quest for answers, and Claudia scrambled to pick up her Farnsworth. “Hey, King Arthur, what’s up?”

“Is HG with you?” he asked impatiently.

“Yup, she’s here. Not touching anything I might add,” she teased the vest out of the Brit’s fingers and tucked it under her arm. “We’re just having a cosy little chat with Mrs F. What’s the buzz?” She studied his face a little closer. “Are you smiling? Careful; your face might crack; your eyebrows could lose cohesion and fall off!”

“Stop that! I like my eyebrows,” he grumbled. “If you’re finished picking on my epidermal follicular features, would you mind telling Agent Wells that I have a call waiting for her?”

“I like picking on you from a distance; you can’t throw things at me,” Claudia stuck out her tongue and then jumped guiltily when a hand reached from behind her and tore the device out of her grasp.

“Who is calling me, Artie?” HG demanded, a hand resting on her churning stomach. She watched a hereto-unknown expression of compassion pass over the grumpy director’s features and felt her breath catch. “Myka?” she managed with a croaky squeak.

Agent Nielson nodded and, when he noticed the tears beginning to fall from the Victorian’s tired eyes, hastened to confirm her hopes. “They’re home,” he concluded quickly. “I’ll have Pete take you back to Univille as soon as you’re ready.”

Claudia caught the Farnsworth as it slipped from the inventor’s fingers and watched with fascination as HG’s face cycled through several emotions. She couldn't stop a joyful grin from spreading across her own features and felt giddy at the thought of the reunion that was soon to happen. “Aww, you’re giving me super feels, HG. Get out of here,” she insisted. “I want all the deets later!” She called after the retreating form.

With no mind for anything but what awaited her at home, Helena ran straight passed her own section of the Warehouse before she remembered who she was leaving behind. Torn, she came to a halt and deliberated for a moment before turning back.

“Christina?” She called into the shelves, hoping that the teen wasn't far. The sound of approaching footsteps allowed her to release a breath of air and she waited impatiently for the young woman to reach her before launching into an explanation for her haste. “She’s here… there… at home. They both are… Well, I mean to say that you're there. They're there…” She tripped over her words uncharacteristically, making the teen smile with sympathy and understanding.

CJ held her mother’s hands in her own and tried to share her calm. “It’s ok, Mum; I get it. I’m fine here. I don't mind annoying grumpy Gramps while you're gone.”

Helena frowned. “Are you not coming with me?”

Shaking her head, the young woman smiled gently. “I don't think it would be a good idea for me to be in the same room as… Well, me. She’s been through a lot recently and this would just be one more thing to confuse her with.”

“Yes, I suppose you are right. I don't want to cause her… You… Any more consternation than necessary.” Thinking of the conversation she’d just had with Mrs Fredrick, the inventor wrapped her arms around the teen’s shoulders and hugged her tight. “Myka will want to see you. Can you promise that you will not make any lasting decisions until we are all together?”

“Within reason,” Christina cautioned. “No more than three days.”

“I think that’s reasonable.” She kissed the girl’s forehead and cautioned her not to touch anything before telling her how much she loved her and turning for the exit.

* * * * *

Having expected the spinning this time, Myka had crouched down after reaching out for the artefact, giving her stability to hold onto her daughter and stay on her feet at the same time. There was no reason to believe that they might be in danger when they emerged from the time portal but there were no guarantees and she wanted to be ready for anything.

As it was, she needn't have worried. While their journey ended and their surroundings came into focus, it was quite obvious that they had returned from whence they'd started. A sense of calm and relief filled her for several seconds until her hearing caught the sound of every little tick and buzz but no other human movement. Habitually, she covered her daughter’s eyes as she dropped the artefact into a static-bag, but was not surprised this time when nothing happened.

_ Where’s Helena?  _ She immediately wondered. The dimly lit hallway indicated the lateness of the day and the agent reached for the nearest wall-switch, hesitating for a second to appreciate the simplicity of the action before the immediate area filled with light.

Christina was the first to move, wriggling from her mother’s tight hold and beginning to inspect the house to make sure that it wasn't an illusion. “We did it, Mama. We’re home,” she concluded in a cautious tone. She returned to the adult’s side and held onto her sleeve. “Do you think everyone’s alright? Where’s Mummy?”

“I’m sure they’re all fine,” Myka insisted, forcing her voice to sound confident. “If your mother isn't here, then she’ll be at the Warehouse or Leena’s. Why don't we have a look around and see if we can find any sign of her?”

It didn't take long for them to search the house from top to bottom. Myka knew within the first couple of minutes, when her fiancée didn't instantly appear at the sound of their voices, that Helena wasn't in the house, but for her own peace of mind, she completed the search to check that there was nothing else out of place.

In the study, she found her cell phone on the desk and started with Leena’s number while opening up her laptop and switching it on. The date on her phone told her that she and Christina had only been away for a quarter of the time that they'd spent in 1890, but she still needed to know if anything catastrophic had occurred in that period. The eight year old flitted in and out, sometimes running upstairs to fetch things from her room and other times, simply holding onto Myka’s arm, her head resting on the adult’s shoulder, eyes closed while her mother stroked her hair.

With no luck at the bed and breakfast, Agent Bering tried Artie. After seven rings, she was almost ready to give up and just get in the car, but then she heard a click and a familiar grunt in greeting and kept the receiver by her ear.

“Hello?” An ever-impatient tone sounded through the line.

“Artie, it’s Myka,” she announced tentatively. She held her breath, hoping that they hadn’t been blinked out of existence as a result of their little adventure to the past. It seemed unlikely that the Warehouse would allow it considering the trouble it had gone to in setting certain things in motion, but her imagination couldn’t help the occasional spinning tangent. There was a scrambling on the other end of the line, followed by a short silence. “Artie?”

“Myka? You’re back! Where are you? How are you?” Agent Bering pictured the director blustering about and as much as she’d enjoyed interacting with Caturanga, she realised now how fond she was of her own superior.

Myka smiled to herself. “We’re at home and we’re fine. A little exhausted, mentally and ready for a long soak in hot running water, but otherwise, we’re ok.” There was a tiny pause before the question on the tip of her tongue came tumbling out. “Is she there? Is Helena with you?” She wanted to add an inquiry into the whereabouts of the young woman who’d sent them the artefact but with Christina once more clinging tightly to her arm, she resisted. Helena would tell her everything she needed to know in good time.

“Yes, she arrived this morning. Do you want me to call her?” he wondered aloud.

“Yes,” Myka answered without thinking. She felt her heart rate pick up at the mere thought of her fiancée’s presence and suddenly knew that she didn’t want to talk to her over the phone. Overhearing the Farnsworth conversation, she felt her grip on her cell tighten. She needed Helena to fill all of her senses at once. Needed to feel those arms around her before she broke down. Needed that anchor to keep her grounded right now. “Artie, would it be ok to do my de-brief at home, maybe tomorrow? I could really do with a goodnight’s sleep.”

“Yes, of course. I trust that you’ve contained the artefact appropriately?” She agreed that she had. “I’ll have Pete return it to the Warehouse tonight. I want Vanessa to give you a check-up tomorrow though. That’s not up for negotiation.”

Myka chuckled and allowed her amusement to chase away some of the tension she was feeling. “No problem. I was hoping to talk to her anyway. I need to get off the phone now. Please tell Helena to travel safely. I need her in one piece.”

Picking up on his agent’s strained vibe, the director nodded to himself. “I’m having Pete drive her over.” He expressed his happiness at her return in his usual minimalist manner and returned the receiver to its cradle seconds before one anxious inventor entered his office.

At her end, Myka placed the phone down with a shaky hand and pulled her daughter into her lap as best she could in the plush office chair. The initial excitement at successfully arriving home was beginning to wear off. Thoughts of the past few weeks were starting to creep in. She swayed with the girl for several minutes while actively storing her swirling thoughts in neat little compartments to revisit at a later date. Feeling Christina in her arms went a long way to helping her mind stay calm and she soon found herself whispering little comforting words of wisdom into the girl’s ear as she reminded herself that every moment of heartache had been necessary to bring them back together. She tried not to think of her baby and the years she had missed; it had to be enough that her daughter was alive and well now, in her arms.

Eventually, she decided that being busy would help them while they waited for Helena to return and encouraged the eight-year-old in the direction of the kitchen. She opened several cupboards, searching for inspiration, before turning back to Christina with a sigh.

“Do you think your mother would be amenable to take-out for once?” the agent asked with a small, knowing smile. “I don’t think I have the energy to cook.” She glanced at the clock and read ‘ten past five’. How long had they sat in the study? How long ago had Helena left the Warehouse?

“Can we have pizza?” the girl asked with sudden enthusiasm. “It’s been _so long_ since we had pizza,” she groused.

“We made pizza shortly before our little trip to London. That wasn’t _so_ long ago,” Myka argued and then added, “But something simple and comforting does sound good right about now.”

A wavy-haired head bobbed along in agreement. “Can we invite everybody over? I think they would like to see that we’re alright.”

Myka hesitated, knowing that company meant noise and chaos, but that she was also keen to see her extended family together after a month apart. “We’ll wait and see how we all feel when your mother gets home. We might end up wanting a quiet night to ourselves. On the other hand,” she continued, seeing the disappointment rising in her daughter’s expression. “Pizza just isn't the same without Pete and Claudia around.”

Christina agreed to curb her enthusiasm in the end and they spent five minutes ‘playing’ with the household appliances before the sound of a car pulling up outside diverted their attention. Frozen in mid-motion, the pair waited until they heard hurried footsteps on the path and exchanged happy, relieved grins. The eight-year-old took off like a shot the moment the sound of the opening front door reached them, leaving her Mama to gather her strength as Helena’s frantic voice rang out through the house.

“Christina, Myka!?”

“Mummy!” Christina cried joyously as she bolted from the kitchen and charged the length of the hall towards her mother.

HG’s reaction was reminiscent of her astounded relief several months earlier, upon seeing her daughter alive and well. She fell to her knees and braced herself for the weight of the girl running towards her, enveloping her arms around the small figure and holding on like she would never let go.

“Oh, my darling,” she cooed into a close ear. Tears slipped from beneath closed lids as she pulled her daughter into her body further and began rocking them back and forth. Dark orbs opened at the sound of heals on the wooden floor and she gazed up through her blurred vision to take in the approaching woman.

A week away from her fiancée had sent her into withdrawal and catching sight of the magnificent image before her sent a series of mixed emotions into her system, flooding her veins and wiping all logical thought from her mind. She watched with baited breath as Myka reached them and carefully joined them on the floor. Soft lips met her own and she finally remembered to breathe, taking small gulps of air each time they parted, ignoring the salty tang of their combined relief.  meant ioned her not to touch anything before telling her how much she loved her and turning for the exit.  meant ioned her not to touch anything before telling her how much she loved her and turning for the exit.  meant ioned her not to touch anything before telling her how much she loved her and turning for the exit.  meant ioned her not to touch anything before telling her how much she loved her and turning for the exit.  meant ioned her not to touch anything before telling her how much she loved her and turning for the exit.  meant ioned her not to touch anything before telling her how much she loved her and turning for the exit.  meant ioned her not to touch anything before telling her how much she loved her and turning for the exit.

Not caring about the pain of her knees on the hard floor, Myka continued to sink into the inventor, feeling a need to drown herself in her mate’s presence. “Helena,” she whispered fervently, her lips brushing across a cheek and temple.

Perhaps if they hadn’t had an active eight-year-old between them, they might have stayed on the floor all night. As it was, Christina quickly grew bored by their inactivity and pulled them all into the living room. Myka’s fingers had found their way into silky, black hair and fell as far as the nape of the inventor’s neck while they were ushered from the hallway. With Helena’s arm wrapped firmly around her waist, she brought them to a halt in front of the couch and twisted round into a loving embrace.

Christina giggled as her parents lost themselves in each other and managed to sneak from the room to find her Mama’s cell phone. She punched in the password from memory and scrolled through the contacts until she found the one she wanted.

“Hey, Mykes!” Agent Lattimer’s voice came through the receiver loud and clear. “How was the trip?” he asked jokingly.

Sniggering again to herself, the young girl stood by the door between the living room and hallway and began to put her plan for a welcome home party into action. “It’s me, Uncle Pete,” she stage-whispered to her Mama’s best friend.

“CJ?” Pete frowned to himself, thankful for the fact that he hadn’t opened with a rude joke. “Where are your moms?”

Christina peeked round the edge of the door. Her parents had stopped kissing but they were still fairly oblivious to their surroundings, eyes locked, hands touching faces and conversing in hushed tones as if any loud noise would break the spell they were under.

“They’re in the living room, saying hello,” she summed up.

“Does that ‘hello’ include kissing and staring?” he guessed.

“Yes... They were kissing. Now they’re staring.” She turned her back on the scene and thought about what she wanted him to do. “Mama wants pizza for dinner and she says that it’s not the same without you and Aunt Claudia. Can you come over for dinner and bring some pizza... Please?” She held her breath, hoping he would say yes before her Mama came looking for her.

Sensing that he was missing something, Pete decided that since he was still outside where HG had left him, that he would go in and investigate for himself anyway. “Sure thing. Though I’ve gotta take that artefact back to the Warehouse first.”

Her expression falling slightly, Christina tried again, injecting a note of pleading into her tone. “Would you be able to pick up the pizza first? I am awfully hungry, Uncle Pete. My tummy is rumbling and everything.”

Experiencing a light-bulb moment, Agent Lattimer smiled to himself. He wasn’t going to conspire with the kid against Myka and HG. Not this way at least; he knew that they wouldn’t if it was his kid. Taking pity on the young Brit though, he was sure he could help out somehow. “I’m right outside kiddo; I dropped your mom off. I’ll be there, uno momento.”

“Oh,” the girl replied, feeling mildly disappointed.

“Hey, no big sighs. Trust the Petemeister, ok?” In no time, he’d jumped from his vehicle and locked it behind him, bouncing up the steps to rap on the front door.

Jerking from their trance, the two women glanced towards the door, Myka’s expression going from content to concerned in a split second as her eyes immediately searched the room. “Christina?” she called.

“Here, Mama,” the girl in question entered from behind the door and, realising that she couldn’t hide what she’d done, held the phone out to the adult. “It’s just Uncle Pete,” she added as her Mummy walked passed her to answer the door.

“You called Pete?” She asked in confusion.

“Mmhm,” the girl nodded proudly. She had taken the situation into her own hands, not waiting for her mothers’ approval for once and felt a sense of satisfaction over the decision. “He’s going to take our artefact back to the Warehouse and bring Aunt Claudia back here, along with pizza for all of us.”

Myka’s expression twitched between several conflicting emotions. Pride and amusement rose up with the knowledge that her little girl had the nosce to take charge and be defiant like her British mother. Concern and disappointment were hot on their heels as she realised that Christina had deliberately gone behind her back after they’d agreed to wait until they’d discussed their plans with Helena.

“Ok,” she agreed reluctantly, letting her eyes speak her disapproval for her. She watched a spark of regret pass over her daughter’s gaze and immediately felt bad. “I’ll overlook your loose interpretation of our discussion in the kitchen this once,” she smiled softly as she spoke, showing the girl that she was forgiven.

“HG,” Pete greeted as he entered and immediately sought out his best friend, crushing her in a hug. “Mykes. You scared us all with that stunt. I thought we were time travel buddies!” he teased.

The agent hugged him back, feeling more tears prick her eyelids at the knowledge that her ‘big brother’ was there. “I found a more compliant co-pilot,” she responded in kind and winked down at the eight-year-old. She felt Helena’s arm slip around her waist and turned to meet curious eyes. “Our child seems to think that we need a welcome home party,” she began to explain. “What do you think?” She knew that they were both exhausted but she hoped that her love was amenable to company too.

“So long as company doesn't mind the lack of hospitality while I snuggle with my family, I approve,” Helena answered happily. “If Peter is willing to bring food also, so much the better.” She brushed her lips against Myka’s cheek and was met with a radiant smile, eliciting duel sniggers from the onlookers.

Pete took the artefact, left with their orders and returned with Claudia, Lila and Leena in tow less than an hour later. Christina commandeered the techie’s attention the moment the door closed behind the visitors and took over the serving of the pizza, while her parents welcomed everybody and insisted that they make themselves at home.

Leena took one look at the couple and recognised immediately that this gathering was mostly for the eight-year-old’s benefit. HG sat on the couch with her feet pulled up behind her and her head flopping against the back cushions while Myka was curled up against her lap, her eyelids fluttering shut every now and then as the inventor’s fingers ran through her hair. They were quite obviously content to let events unfold around them, happy in the knowledge that their extended family would keep an eye on their little girl.

By the time there was nothing but crumbs left of their communal meal and the chatter had begun to die down, Christina had collapsed on the floor between Claudia’s legs and was clinging to the young woman’s jacket. Pete set the ball rolling by announcing that he and Lila were heading home and soon after, the rest followed suit, the red head struggling with the teary child that didn't want to let her go.

Helena managed to untangle her daughter’s limbs from Agent Donovan’s clothes and cajoled her daughter for several minutes until she agreed to brush her teeth and put her pyjamas on.

Surprised by the girl’s difficult behaviour, HG struggled to get her from the bathroom to her bedroom and then into bed while Myka took a much anticipated shower. She almost regretted insisting that she could manage by herself; Christina hadn't been this obtuse since she was about three years old. She breathed a sigh of relief when her fiancée entered, her hair washed and dry and smelling like coconut. Beneath the relief, there was a foreign sense of failure. Why couldn't she get this right? What was wrong with her?

“Christina, it is time for bed. If you want a story, then you must choose one quickly.” She had tried explaining this already but the girl simply replied ‘I am!’, while emptying her shelves of every book. There were piles gathering on the floor and there was no sense of urgency about her efforts.

As the brunette entered and surveyed the scene, she gathered that things weren't going well. “Sweetheart,” she tried in a firm-friendly tone. “Mummy rignoring the salty tang of their combined relief.all gulps oNot caring about.he agreed to brush her teeth and put her pyjamas on he and Lila were heading home and soon after, the rest followed suit, the r.he agreed to brush her teeth and put her pyjamas on he and Lila were heading home and soon after, the rest followed suit, the rd it'ssaid it’s time for bed. You have one minute to choose a book.” She turned to Helena, raising her eyebrows, silently asking if anything else had happened to cause this. The inventor shook her head, bemused. As they watched the clock and a minute passed, the adults braced themselves. “Minute’s up. What have you got?”

“I'm still deciding,” Christina’s answer scrambled over the growing fortress of books.

Myka swallowed her misgivings and linked her arm with Helena’s, guiding the inventor towards the door. “Ok. Goodnight then.” Her tone was firm but not unkind as she began to pull the door to behind her.

“No, wait!” A panicked voice followed the adults onto the landing, halting them in their tracks. “I have this one,” the eight-year-old announced as she pulled any book from the nearest pile and stood forlornly by her bed.

Agent Bering immediately felt a wave of guilt settle in her stomach but she fought any contrition out of her expression. She had known that this was going to be a difficult transition. It wasn't surprising that the girl was testing their limits but she didn't want Christina to think that her behaviour was acceptable. There had to be some sort of compromise though; she didn't want to be like _her_ parents had been.

“Five seconds to be in bed,” she warned softly. “Ready? Five... four...”

Christina scrambled beneath the covers, alarmed by this sudden change in their night-time ritual. _What will happen if she gets to one?_ she wondered. All night she had been dreading this moment. It was illogical to think that she could avoid going to bed indefinitely but that hadn’t stopped her trying. Tears gathered as she lost the will to fight them back and as her parents sat across her bed, she buried her face against her Mama’s big tummy.

“I don’t want to sleep alone,” she sniffed. She felt her Mummy’s hands massaging her legs through the quilt while fingers brushed her hair behind her ears.

“I know,” Myka soothed. “I understand that this is difficult after sleeping with Mummy or me for a month. You’re a big girl though Christina and you have your own space that you love. Remember how excited you were to have it? You will feel that way again, you just need to give it time.”

“You know we are just across the way if you need anything, love,” HG reassured her, still playing with the feet beneath her hands. “You will learn to enjoy your room again, I’m certain.” Christina said nothing and the inventor shared a worried glance with her partner.

“What book did you find for me then?” Myka tried after a short silence.

“It’s not my favourite,” the girl complained sulkily as she reached behind her to where she’d thrown her book. “You didn’t give me enough time to find a better one.”

The American swallowed her response, guessing that her daughter was trying to provoke her and drag out this conflict. Getting into an argument would only end in more tears and further stress for all of them. “The Jungle Book will do for tonight. If you go to bed earlier tomorrow night, you’ll have more time to search, won’t you?” she added pleasantly.

Myka read, making sure before she started that Christina was tucked under the covers to prevent hands and fingers from clamping down on her limbs and clothes. The entire ordeal was a struggle and she was beyond tired herself, but with the occasional reassuring look from Helena, she managed to stay cool and calm, finally kissing her daughter’s forehead as she left the girl’s room in favour of her own.

There were so many things that she wanted to discuss with her fiancée. So many questions she wanted to ask. When were they going to get time to sit down and have an actual conversation with so many disruptions around them? The last thing she wanted was to feel resentment towards her baby, but really, all she had wanted for tonight was to return to their life, including the time she had to spend alone with the woman she loved.

She sank down onto the bottom of the bed and let her head fall into her hands. Scant seconds passed before the bed moved to accommodate another body and she felt strong arms pulling her close. Hands moved back and forth along her skin, the motion allowing some of the tension in her body to dissipate.

“I had thought we might have some time to ourselves to catch up. I don’t know about you though darling, but I think I would prefer to simply crawl into bed with you and finally sleep.” Helena pulled back and coaxed Myka’s head up to meet her gaze. “What say you?”

A head of messy curls bobbed up and down approvingly and the couple forced their bodies to move as they made their final preparations for the evening.

Myka lay on her side and pulled Helena’s arms around her middle, savouring the feeling of finally having her fiancée beside her in bed. “Helena?”

“Hmm?” A sleepy voice murmured.

“Is... Was it her? Was it Christina who sent the package?” _This_ she had to know.

HG nodded into the back of her lover’s neck and stroked a hand over her belly. “Yes, darling. She promised not to take any action that would make her unavailable until you have had a chance to see her, though she did stipulate that she would like to be on her way within the next three days.”

Myka closed her eyes and breathed slowly as she placed this knowledge amongst her thoughts. She had suspected as much but hadn’t wanted to base too much of her thinking on an assumption. “Do you think I could see her tomorrow?”

“You will have to go to the Warehouse,” the inventor explained. “She doesn’t wish to complicate the situation further for our stubborn little princess.”

A smile crept across the brunette’s features as she considered their daughter’s tiresome antics. Much as she disliked fighting against the girl, she appreciated the fact that they were both there to mark the experience.

Neither adult was sure when their muttered conversation died away and sleep fell upon them. Nor were they particularly cognizant of waking up a couple of hours later to reluctantly allow a small figure to climb in and settle between them. Come morning, there would be raised eyebrows and confused glances as they wondered which of them had given in to the girl’s pleading. Eventually, they would decide that it didn’t matter and that they would make the most of the morning cuddles.

After all, this was their miracle. One that they would cherish, even if that did mean they occasionally made bedtimes harder to establish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to have an epilogue written by next week to wrap up this part of the series. Any thoughts and suggestions are welcome. Have I missed anything or laboured too long over certain points? Let me know!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summing up The Bridge and giving a sneak peak of the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've reached the final chapter for The Bridge. I hope this chapter answers some of those lingering questions and concerns, while also planting some more seeds for the future of this story. This chapter was supposed to be much shorter, but there was no way I could have done it justice in fewer words.

**Warehouse 13, 2015**

Hair tied back in a messy pony-tail, sporting jeans, trainers, a t-shirt and sweater, Myka exuded an aura that repelled anything work related. She was here on personal matters and woes betide anyone who tried to pull her into anything artefacty today.

Midday had come and gone; a lazy morning spent making breakfast, eating in front of the television and cuddling on the sofa while Christina lay on the carpet singing along with seven Austrian children and their governess. The eight-year-old had been distracted enough for her parents to have a whispered conversation, giving Myka the highlights of their teenaged daughter’s visit. Many things brought a smile to her lips but the mention of the bronzer gave her pause. She immediately pictured Helena in her struggle after being de-bronzed. That was not an experience she wanted her little girl to have. She had to learn more about Claudia’s invention.

First though, she needed to _see_ her daughter.

Artie surprised her with a hug as she stepped through the umbilicus and her lips twitched fondly at his instant embarrassment. “Welcome back, Agent Bering. I trust you’re here to bring that child of yours under control?”

Myka felt taken aback by his suggestion until he cracked a smile and nodded towards the corner of the room. The little hairs on the back of her neck tingled and she forgot the director’s presence as she turned, her gaze landing on a young woman who resembled her fiancée so closely that she felt her breath catch in her throat. A tentative grin tugged at the corner of the teen’s mouth and the agent’s legs carried her forward of their own volition.

Her hands rose to either side of Christina’s face and she felt a fresh wave of tears gather on her lower lids.

“Hey Ma,” CJ greeted her mother in a hushed tone.

Myka threw her arms around the girl’s neck and pulled her close. “My baby,” she whispered into the closest ear. It was a strange sensation; mere days ago, this person had been growing inside her, a part of her body. Now, that tiny being was a grown woman.

The teen tilted her head to rest it on her mother’s shoulder and closed her eyes. She had been worried that her Mama would be angry with her. “I’m sorry about the package and for not warning you about any of this.”

“Don’t be,” Myka shook her head and leant back far enough to look into familiar dark eyes. “I have you and this little one...” she touched a hand to her round belly. “Because of that. So no apologies, ok?”

“Ok,” the young woman nodded happily. “So, I’m guessing Mum told you about my plans? Is that why you’re here?”

“To talk you out of it?” the agent asked, watching for the defiance she expected. “Not if it’s what you feel you have to do,” she explained carefully. “But you didn’t really expect either of us not to try to find an alternative, did you? I need to know more.”

“Parents are meddlesome like that,” Christina chuckled.

* * * * *

**Boston, 1897**

After many days of being at sea, the ground under their feet seemed to pitch and sway as the couple walked through the busy Boston harbour. The crossing had been fairly uneventful, with only one day stuck in their cabin while the wind and rain hammered at the port holes and threw the ship roughly back and forth. The majority of their journey had afforded them the rare opportunity to enjoy parts of the world that they would likely never see again.

A melancholy air had followed them from London. It had been difficult to leave their lives behind, lying to their family, letting everybody believe erroneously that they had every intention of returning. Only when they stood together, arm in arm, looking over the bow of the ship at the most magnificent sunsets, did they let their woes drift off into the endless stretch of sea and sky.

It had to be done. No matter how much they hadn’t wanted to leave Helena or darling Christina while knowing that their granddaughter was moving ever closer to disaster, they couldn’t risk their close proximity. As much as they knew that events of the future must remain unchanged, they couldn’t envision sitting by while their loved ones suffered. Their removal from the situation was necessary. The Warehouse was preparing to move and thanks to Agent Bering’s information, they knew where to start looking for their new site. It had seemed like the best option for them to go and they were not leaving without their own agenda.

Eleanor leant contentedly against her husband as they wandered through the busy streets. She was glad of his company; there was no one else she wanted by her side as they journeyed towards the end of this life. It would take time to establish the foundation for the future protection of all they loved and it was fitting that they, who had overseen the beginnings of a new generation of agent, should be the ones to architect a portion of the next phase of the Warehouse’s existence.

While waiting for their luggage to be ported from the ship to their carriage, the couple spent an hour stretching their legs. Most of their belongings included clothing and they did not feel the need to oversee the transfer. However, hidden inside Rupert’s long coat was their insurance policy. A small pouch containing something precious, stolen over the ocean with them.

A curiosity that would allow their descendants to call for help when it was needed.

And it _would_ be needed.

* * * * *

**Warehouse 13, 2015**

It was time.

No alternative had arisen to replace the surety of the bronzer and Claudia’s invention. Myka had joined the search for a day, putting her extensive knowledge of the Warehouse’s inventory to the test but to no avail. Helena had held out tentative hope that her fiancée would succeed where she hadn’t but neither of them were devastated by the outcome; they were resigned to their daughter’s fate and harboured a combined hopefulness that everything would be fine. Pete had suggested they look at it as if they were putting their child to bed for a ten-year nap and although his comment had been off the cuff, both concerned parents were holding onto that peaceful idea.

“Mama, Mum, I’ll be ok. I promise,” Christina tried to reassure her mothers as she hugged them both a final time before stepping into the dreaded machine. She could feel her nerves overwhelming her each time she looked between her parents and her destination but she was determined to do this. She was confident that it would work. She had to put her faith in the entity that had triggered her creation.

Artie stood, ready next to the controls as his agents said their goodbyes. Mrs Fredrick had appeared to offer her stoic support and Claudia rocked back and forth by the caretaker’s side, feeling her own nerves building as it came to crunch time. Vanessa was waiting in the medical room to begin her own tasks, while all of the others, including Steve and Jason who had returned from their hunt, had agreed to hold a casual group gathering at the bed and breakfast to entertain the youngest time traveller while her parents were occupied.

Everything was set. It was time.

“I’m sure you will be, Sweetheart, but you can hardly blame us for worrying,” Myka smiled as she watched her daughter climb into the vertical tube. Her right hand held tightly to Helena’s left and her other lay flat against the shell of the machine, preventing her from reaching out to fuss at the young woman’s clothing. She wanted to appear supportive, not overbearing. “Any requests before we do this?”

“Yeah,” the teen frowned. “Please don’t let Mum go all devil–may-care when I bring boyfriends home.” She winked at the American but turned an irritated stare on the Brit.

“Boyfriends? Plural?” HG frowned too. “How many do you intend to have?”

“Less than you did!” Christina countered as an amused grin appeared through her projected annoyance.

Myka squeezed her fiancée’s hand. “I’ll do my best,” she assured the teen as Helena huffed beside her. “Sleep well.”

CJ nodded, her mouth closed for a moment while she pushed down a wave of emotion that threatened to blast through her control. “Mum?” she finally found the strength to ask.

“Yes, my love?”

“Remember what I said about Adelaide,” the teen requested casually.

HG looked puzzled. “I don’t recall...”

“You will,” Christina replied, kissing her mother on the cheek one last time. She shook out her limbs and took a steadying breath. “I’m ready,” she announced with determination.

As agreed, Myka and Helena stepped back from the bronzer, close enough that they felt a part of what they were witnessing, but not close enough to interfere should either of them feel an uncontrollable urge.

Artie snapped on a pair of purple gloves, pulled Ebbinghaus’ notebook from a static bag and approached the tubular construction. Without words, he passed it into the young adventurer’s hands. Almost instantly, those gathered witnessed the teen’s expression relax and droop into that of a person on the edge of slumber.

Myka felt her lover lean weightlessly into her body and wrapped her arms securely around Helena’s waist to keep her upright. She heard and felt her emotions echoed by the loaded whimper that fell from the inventor as a serene expression infused their daughter’s features and her eyes finally closed under the guise of sleep. Flash freezing would keep the teen looking peaceful for the next ten years.

No sooner had the bronzer finished its job and the sliding door opened to reveal the newly made statue, than Claudia whipped her hidden jacket from a box and skipped forward to help her idol fit the invention to Christina’s immobile form. After securing it in place and attaching all the sensors that were needed to the teen’s body, the red head booted up her programme and stood back to watch. A tense few moments passed as Claudia, Helena and Myka studied the information that passed across the screen. Artie and Mrs Fredrick had quietly wandered off to converse in private, which left the trio in anticipatory silence.

The moment the analysis was complete and the flashing lights turned into scrolling electrical impulses, Claudia fist pumped the air and turned to meet her friends’ reactions. “Well? Do I totally rock or what?”

It was clear from the little happy icons that the techie had programmed into her app that everything in Christina’s world was humming along nicely. Myka, overwhelmed with relief and gratitude, threw herself at the young agent and pulled her into a hug, lifting her three inches off the ground.

“You rock, Claude,” the brunette agreed enthusiastically. “I love you.”

“Ok, Myka,” the red head squeaked, sucked in a breath of air the moment she was free and then gasped a second time when HG followed suit. “Right… Ok… Oxygen, becoming an issue,” she panted.

With an air of wishing to be alone to tinker with her invention, Claudia assured each of her friends several times that she had everything under control before insisting that she would have a report for them when they returned from their next point of call and Myka’s mom-to-be appointment with Dr. Calder.

Hands linked, the couple dragged themselves from the bronze area and retreated to where Mrs Fredrick had arranged for the mnemosyne bowl to be brought. This felt like the final hurdle, the last hoop to jump through before they could go home,  begin to enjoy their present and start planning for the future. After a long discussion the night before, they had agreed to listen to their daughter’s wish for them to make her childhood a thing to be envied and to honour the courage she’d showed in ensuring that their family existed. Both of them were eager to make that happy future a reality.

Helena stepped nervously into the room and nodded stiffly at the caretaker. She felt Myka’s hand guide her towards a pedestal where the bowl sat and then leant back into her fiancee’s comforting embrace.

With a deep breath, she gathered herself. “What precisely must I do?”

“Simply drink the contents. Your memories will return to you before the night is over,” Irene gestured unassumingly with one hand before leaving the agents to it.

“Why do I feel so anxious?” HG muttered half to herself once she was along with her partner.

Myka hesitated as she considered the question. “Are you worried that you might not have been the perfect gentlewoman?’ she teased, half-heartedly.

Helena smirked. “You have satisfied my curiosity on that subject already.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” the American whispered into the shell of an ear.

“Very well, darling. Here goes…”

* * * * *

**2025**

“Mum, seriously; I’m fine.”

Christina rolled her eyes at her mother but couldn’t prevent the affectionate smile that pulled her mouth up at the corners. Still, the gracefully ageing inventor hovered in the doorway and while she appreciated the older woman’s concerns, even expected it, that didn’t mean that she found it any less irritating.

A high-pitched, indignant squeal tore through the house, followed by instant and voluminous declarations of denial, drawing the attention of both women.

It sounded like her siblings were killing each other again.

Helena angled her head to try and catch the cause of the commotion but only managed to glean enough to know that her wife was reaching the end of her tether. “You’re sure you don’t need anything?”

Keeping her expression warm, the young woman nodded. “Positive. Give me a couple of hours to myself and call me down for dinner would you?”

“Of course, love.” HG kissed her daughter on the forehead and then started towards the door. “I had better...” she gestured toward the sounds of chaos.

“Go,” CJ insisted and watched as her mother left.

Feeling the weight of her relief pass over her, Christina pushed her bedroom door softly to and stood for a moment to take in her surroundings.

“I’m back,” she whispered to herself as a teary smile brightened her tired features.

Sleeping for ten years should perhaps have fulfilled her energy requirements for a while but the emotional reunion with her family, the realisation that she had succeeded in her mission, and the lengthy flight back home with her temperamental little sister in tow, had sapped what vigour she had woken with.

Being back in her own bedroom was a huge comfort. She wandered around for a few minutes, picking up various treasures just to feel their weight and solidity in her hands to test that they were real. Once satisfied, she wandered over to her bed and laid widthways across it, enjoying the familiar comfort.

Christina reflected on her time in the bronze, picking apart her dreams, her emotions and the rare occasion when she had felt brief moments of anxiety. Images of people and places; concepts of time and space; philosophies surrounding existence and purpose, all collided to create a surety she had never before experienced. She was a tool and there was one reason she had been given life. Far from feeling resentful for the interference, Christina held onto the peace and confidence she had experienced in her dreams. She had the freedom to choose what she would make of her life but when the time came to give back, she knew where her loyalties lay.

It was as she considered the underlying theme of her sleep state that she developed a theory that her clever plan to take control of her dreams in the bronze had been tampered with. Even though she had chosen it with the idea of making her journey somewhat bearable, somehow the whole situation had turned out much easier than anticipated. Though she suspected that the Warehouse had had something to do with that, parental interference also seemed high on the list of possibilities.

She shook her head; they just couldn’t help themselves.

Night came on rapidly, eating into their dinner and bringing the hungry onset of bedtime with it. The youngest members of the household were given no quarter after the stress of the long day spent travelling and the house fell into a sleepy quiet, with the young adult bidding her parents goodnight shortly after.

Wanting to return swiftly to a sense of normalcy, she ignored their expressions of concern and curiosity, instead promising that she would share her experiences with them when she felt that she had had enough time to reflect. Their never-ending thirst for knowledge would make them both persistent but she was well versed in how to handle the two ex-agents.

Across the landing, the curious mothers were themselves preparing for sleep.

“Do you think she really is ok?” Myka wondered aloud as she pulled back the covers of their king-size bed and crawled into its welcoming softness.

Helena paused in the middle of removing her bra and considered the question. Eventually, she shrugged. “I suppose we shall have to take her word for it until she informs us otherwise.” Returning to her task, she barely noticed the eyes that habitually watched her every move. Almost seven years they had been married and feeling her wife’s constant gaze, particularly while undressing, was something that was just expected, but though they had both reached a point where a warm glance no longer sparked an instant need to touch, the gesture was far from unappreciated. The inventor pulled her sleep shorts on to compliment her t-shirt and slid into bed beside her wife, leaning over to meet the ever-awaiting kiss and snuggle down into still toned arms. “For the most part, I believe that she is telling the truth.”

“You think she’ll ever tell us what she dreamt of?” The brunette asked curiously.

HG slung an arm around her love’s waist and settled into the crook of Myka’s neck. “Given time, I imagine so.”

They were quiet for some time, both thinking about the vicissitudes of the day and contemplating what tomorrow might bring. Myka though back to the day that she and her fiancée had watched their first-born step into that damned machine and become frozen in time. She remembered thinking how brave her daughter was and how proud she was to be Christina’s mother. She reflected on the days after, when their frozen child had been almost constantly on her mind, to the years following when life had taken up the brunt of her conscious thought and the bronzed figure had somehow turned into a shadow that took up residence in the back of her mind. Fortune had smiled on them often over the last decade but she was more than happy to think that this trial was finally over with.

Before either could drift off, Helena’s voice whispered softly through the dark, echoing her partner’s thoughts. “I know we have lived the last ten years, for the most part, trusting that she was at peace, but I’m gratified to have this issue of being bronzed over with. It will be nice not to have the image of her immobile figure at the back of my mind.”

“I look forward to being able to move on from it,” Myka agreed. “I know we’re still not really sure what lies ahead, but I’ll sleep easier knowing that all three of our kids are with us on the same plain of existence now.”

“No matter how difficult they are at times,” HG chuckled into her lover’s neck.

Myka smiled into raven hair, appreciating the sentiment.

Sleep eventually overcame them and the midnight hour passed, walls talking of bodies rolling in synchronisation, limbs always reaching to hold what belonged to them. Through the dark, a restless figure emerged, creeping bare-footed across thick-piled carpet to enter the couple’s room and wander along to the head of the bed. A hesitant hand reached out to tap the younger woman on the shoulder.

“Ma,” Christina whispered in the dark. The figure in the bed grumbled but woke and rolled over after a couple more pokes.

“Christina?” Myka shuffled up onto her elbows and peered up at her eldest child. “Sweetheart, is something wrong?”

The teen shifted from one foot to the other. “I can’t sleep.” She glanced across the bed and to the door and back, looking embarrassed as her next words came out in a rush, “Can I get in with you?”

Smiling, not quite in understanding, but at least with an expression that said the young woman was always welcome when she really needed the comfort, Myka threw back the covers and made way for Christina to climb over her.

The sudden gust of cold air hit Helena’s back, bringing the inventor out of her deep slumber. “Bloody-hell, Myka,” she complained grumpily.

“Sorry, hun,” the American apologised through an amused grin. “Our baby girl is joining us.”

With a frown, HG began to push up onto her elbows. “I thought we agreed that Catherine is to sleep in her own bed,” she mumbled, sounding miffed. “Darling, there are no monsters under your bed, but I’m more than happy to come and check,” she added, already beginning to pull back the covers.

“The other baby girl,” Myka clarified, already wrapping herself around said baby.

“Oh,” the inventor acquiesced before flopping back into her pillow. “Hello, love.”

“Hey, Mum,” Christina felt her body relaxing already and the thoughts that had been plaguing her the last few hours quieten. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“No harm. It’s usually your sister,” she complained affectionately.

“Why isn’t Cat allowed in your bed?” the teen wondered aloud.

“Besides the fact that she is old enough to stay in her own bed if there’s nothing terribly wrong? I don’t believe you want me to answer that question.” A slight smirk played at the corners of her mouth but it was hidden in the dark.

“Helena,” Myka’s voice warned from across the bed.

“Ok,” CJ responded quickly. “I don’t need more reasons not to sleep.” They were silent after the chuckles died down but she could feel both of her parents’ brains working at a mile a second. “I think my body has forgotten how to fall asleep on its own. I just thought the extra comfort would help,” she declared, hoping her answer would put their minds at ease.

Whatever worked, within a few short minutes, both ex-agents were half way back to slumber land and Christina finally felt her own mind seeking the same path. It wasn’t until the sound of thumping feet and shouting reached the three of them that any one of them realised that the night had passed them by.

Opening with a bang, the door admitted a small, pyjama-clad figure of almost seven years, who charged into the room at full speed and leaped up onto the foot of the bed. Christina groaned while her parents gave identical sighs of resignation and began to sit up. The energetic figure crawled over her sister’s tired form and crawled into HG’s lap.

“No fair, Mummy,” she complained loudly. “Why is Chrissy allowed to sleep in your bed?”

Following on the small girl’s heels came a boy of about ten years, rubbing his eyes as he casually climbed on top of the covers and flopped between his Mama and older sister. “When will Cat learn how to lie in?” he grumbled into Myka’s neck.

“Give it six or seven years,” the brunette declared in a whisper.

“Ok,” the boy replied unhappily. “Just so you know, I’m moving out with Tina when she goes.”

“What makes you think I’m going anywhere, little brother?” Christina asked from beneath the covers.

“You will when you want to spend more time kissing Tommy,” he teased and then squealed when deft fingers found his ticklish spots through the duvet.

“Mummy!” Catherine complained plaintively, drawing her parents’ attention back to the most important question; hers.

“Love, any one of you may sleep in our bed when you are truly in need of the company, but for the most part, you must sleep in your own beds; that is what they are there for,” Helena explained with strained patience for what felt like the thousandth time. “Christina sleeps in her own bed every other night,” she reminded her youngest. “Last night was an exception.”

Feeling sorry for her mothers for being the cause of her sister’s complaints, Christina crawled out from under the covers and climbed down off the bed. “Hey, squirts. Why don’t we leave Mum and Ma alone for a while and I’ll whip up some bacon and eggs?” She ran her hands through her unkempt hair, trying to tame it as she turned towards the door. Barely a second passed before the sound of shuffling and the thumps of feet followed her. Food got her siblings moving faster than lightning. She paused at the door as the pair ran passed her, looking back to wink at the adults. “Enjoy.”

Grinning, Helena threw the covers back over herself and her wife, shuffled across the middle of the bed and entwined her limbs with Myka’s. “Thank goodness we took the time to teach her how to cook,” she mumbled into a long neck.

Myka wrapped her arms around the inventor’s back and basked in the rare moment they had to enjoy a morning snuggle. “It was good foresight.” She managed to turn her head enough to meet welcoming lips and for several minutes the couple indulged themselves with tender, drawn-out kisses.

The sound of small feet pounding the stairs pulled them out of their cocoon before things could heat up between them and Myka lifted the duvet from over their head to listen for the cause. A moment of ominous silence passed before a second pair of heavier feet followed and Christina’s long-suffering voice filled the landing.

“Catherine Eleanor Wells-Bering, there won’t be any breakfast unless you put some pants on!”

Helena groaned while her wife sniggered into her shoulder. Delighted giggling ricocheted beyond their bedroom door, rapid footfalls ping-ponged along the landing, and a muttered expletive crept passed the hinges, until the teen obviously couldn’t take it anymore.

“Mum!”

Myka threw back the covers and held her hand out for her wife to take. “Come on, Helena. Let’s go and see to our hell-spawn.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next addition to this story will take some time to put together but when it does make its way from my brain onto paper, it will be mainly focussed on family life and will be called 'The Birth'.  
> Thank you all for reading. I hope you're enjoying this journey as much as I am. If you feel like dropping me a note, go for it, don't be shy!


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